


You who are my home

by sephirothflame



Series: mob!AU [1]
Category: Generation Kill, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 98,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sephirothflame/pseuds/sephirothflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate is a college kid trying to make it through these last few months before he can graduate. Brad and Ray are mobsters out to collect money from his father the Senator. Nate just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the results of it are far beyond what any of them could have imagined. All they want to do is move on, but as hard as they try, it really doesn’t seem like an option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> See [here](http://sf-writes.livejournal.com/31443.html) for extended notes and art.
> 
> Warning(s): AU, threesome, dub-con*, sex like whoa, minor BDSM, begging, rough sex, mild bondage, mild drug use, use of sex toys, kidnapping, mentions of breathplay, anxiety disorder/panic attacks
> 
> *at the request on an anonymous reader: could also be considered non-con depending on your comfort zone

It starts with a phone call.

  


Brad passes a pink phone to Ray. “It’s untraceable,” he says, and “Don’t screw this up.”

  


”I know what I’m doing,” Ray says, scowling. The number he types is a number they both know by heart, and he holds a hand up to silence Brad as it starts to ring.

  


They don’t have to wait long. The Senator answers with a shaky “ _Hello_?” after a few seconds.

  


”Long time no see, buddy,” Ray replies. He clicks a button, turning on the speaker phone. “Haven’t heard from you in a few days, just thought I’d call to check in.”

  


” _I told you, I’d get you your money_ ,” Fick says. “ _I just need a little more time._ ”

  


”You know, most people would consider it rude to skip the pleasantries and jump right to business,” Ray says. He drums his fingers on his thighs and smirks at Brad. “It’s almost like you don’t like talking to me. I’m affronted. I am a fucking awesome conversationalist.”

  


Brad gives Ray a pointed look, but Ray waves him off.

  


” _I’m sorry_ ,” Fick says. “ _I don’t have time for this -_ ”

  


”Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way to make time for this,” Ray replies easily. “Especially when you find out what lovely incentive we have for you to hurry the fuck up with our money.”

  


” _Excuse me?_ ” Fick asks, confused and wary, even over the tiny speakers.

  


Brad glances at Ray, before his eyes flick over to the third person in the room. When he looks back at Ray, Ray nods.

  


”Why don’t you say ‘hi’ to your son, Chris,” Ray says. “I’d offer to let you two catch up, but he’s a little tied up at the moment.”

  


Brad glares at Ray, a silent  _are you fucking kidding me?_  hanging between them at Ray’s word choice.

  


” _Nate!?_ ” Fick is nearly screaming, and Ray holds the phone away from his ear. “ _You leave my son out of this, you manipulative motherfuckers -_ ”

  


Ray nudges Nate’s shin with his sneakers, and Nate stirs slowly. When Ray tugs the gag out of his mouth, he immediately licks his lips. “Say ‘hi’ to your daddy, Nate.”

  


”Wha?” Nate asks blearily. He groans, lolling around in his bonds weakly.

  


Brad takes the phone from Ray, rolling his eyes as the Senator continues to yell over the speakers. “Shut the fuck up,” Brad says impatiently. “You have five more days to get us our money. Your son is a good kid. I would hate to have to kill him to make a point.”

  


” _Nate_  - ” Fick says again, but Brad ends the call and silences him.

  


”It’d be such a waste,” Ray says, stroking his knuckles along Nate’s jaw.

  


Nate squirms, trying to move away from the touch, but he’s still too tired and drugged to put up a fight.

  


”Put the gag back before he tries to scream, Ray,” Brad says.

  


”Spoilsport,” Ray huffs, but he slips the gag between Nate’s teeth again.

  


Nate struggles weakly. He’s starting to wake up.

  


”Now we wait?” Ray asks.

  


”Now we wait,” Brad confirms.


	2. Brad

It starts with a phone call.

  


It’s three in the morning and Brad is stretched out on the couch, half empty beer can in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He can’t decide between the ridiculousness of  _Stonehenge Apocalypse_  or an episode of  _Mythbusters_  he’s seen time and time again.

  


Ray stopped complaining about his indecision a while ago, drifting off to sleep with his head in Brad’s lap. It’s an annoying sound, but it’s so much softer than Ray’s normal tirades and off-key, colorful lyrics, so Brad doesn’t wake him. If Ray starts drooling on Brad’s jeans again though, Brad won’t hesitate to change that. Ray isn’t nearly as charming as he thinks he is when he’s slobbering all over Brad’s thigh in his sleep.

  


Brad’s just starting to accept his fate of having nothing to watch and of being a pillow when his phone vibrates against his hip. He balances the remote on Ray’s side carefully, and tucks the can between his thighs. It’s hard to get at his phone without jostling Ray. Ray doesn’t wake though, just makes a face and nuzzles in closer.

  


It’s kind of distracting in a bad way, but Brad pushes those idle thoughts to the back of his mind and checks his caller ID. When he sees  _Godfather_  flashing at him in LED lights, he feels a creep of resignation that always sets in when Godfather calls.

  


”Godfather,” Brad says when he answers his phone. He rests his free hand on Ray’s neck, his thumb rubbing the soft spot behind Ray’s ear slowly.

  


” _Iceman_ ,” Godfather replies simply. The speaker on the phone makes Godfather’s raspy voice even worse than usual, and Brad turns down the TV to actively pay attention and catch his words. “ _There’s a job for you._ ”

  


”Sir,” Brad acknowledges. “What kind of job?”

  


” _The kind where no one gets hurt just yet_ ,” Godfather replies. “ _A friend needs to be reminded that Godfather was good to him. Christopher Fick._ ”

  


Brad closes his eyes for a second and tries to recall the face that goes with the name. It’s not hard. Brad would know the Senator even if he hadn’t taken a loan from the mob. “He borrowed money for his gambling debt.”

  


” _Yes_ ,” Godfather says. “ _Twenty-five thousand dollars. Fick needs to be reminded that this money was not a gift and that Godfather does not run a charity._ ”

  


”Does he have a timeline?” Brad asks. He stops stroking the spot behind Ray’s ear when Ray twitches, stirring.

  


” _One week_ ,” Godfather answers. “ _Sunday. Twenty-three hundred and fifty nine minutes. On Monday morning, Godfather expects his money._ ”

  


Godfather doesn’t actually have to say anything else for the message to be clear. Brad doesn’t know what Godfather plans to have done if the Senator falls through with the payment, but Brad wouldn’t want to be in that position. Ever.

  


”Understood, Sir,” Brad says.

  


Ray yawns and stretches. The remote falls behind him and disappears between the cushions of the couch. He blinks up at Brad slowly, rubbing his eyes like a tired child. If Brad were more of the affectionate type and didn’t actually know Joshua Ray Person, he’d almost call him adorable. “Brad?”

  


Brad covers Ray’s mouth with his hand, and Ray doesn’t fight it. “I’ll make sure your message is passed on before the end of the day.”

  


” _Good_ ,” Godfather says. “ _I’m trusting you and Rockstar to not fuck this up_.” It’s almost a compliment. Godfather hangs up without saying goodbye.

  


”Sir,” Brad says sarcastically. He clicks off his phone and tucks it back into his pocket. As an afterthought, he removes his hand from over Ray’s mouth and wipes it on Ray’s shoulder just to be safe. “We’ve got a job.”

  


”Yeah?” Ray asks. He rolls onto his back, and he’s still staring up at Brad through half-lidded eyes. His shirt is hitched up his stomach, and Ray’s fingers fidget with them hem idly. The dark hair of his happy trail is distracting. “What’s Godfather doing up this late? Jesus. Fucking asshole.”

  


”The Senator,” Brad says, ignoring Ray. There’s no good place to rest his hand when Ray’s on his back, so Brad settles it over Ray’s chest and starts to drum his fingers lightly. “We need to pay him a visit to remind him where his money came from.” Brad sighs, tipping his head back against the couch cushions and stares up at the ceiling. “You still have the file on him?”

  


Brad doesn’t have to be looking at Ray to know Ray is looking at him like he’s an idiot. “Homes, I never get rid of files. Who the fuck knows when we can come back to somebody?”

  


It’s a fair point. One that Brad will concede easily, even.

  


”We’ve got work to do.”

  
\- - -  


Brad is awake before his alarm goes off. He stares at the red LED lights for a second, wiping at his eyes tiredly, before he reaches up and turns the alarm off. He rolls out of bed slowly, stretching as he stands. Sometimes Brad hates it when he is up before the crack of dawn. At least on the beach he could go surfing. But here? There’s no reason to be up this early unless he has a job to do.

  


A job that has him going out of his way to the other side of the city, but Brad knows better to complain. At least there won’t be traffic.

  


He gets dressed quietly, without bothering to turn the lights on. It’s easy, familiar. Practical. It has nothing to do with the fact that Ray is still sprawled fast asleep on the far side of Brad’s bed. He’s snoring again, and probably drooling, and there’s absolutely nothing charming about the way he’s slowly inching over to claim the warm spot where Brad had been.

  


Brad’s pretty sure he’s got a bruise or two from Ray’s bony ankles and elbows hitting him last night. He always forgets that Ray is a terrible person to share a bed with, but Ray always finds a way to worm his way under Brad’s covers despite Brad’s objections. Brad’s still not sure how that works out.

  


Either way, Brad is awake enough to feel no guilt when he yanks the covers down away from Ray and lets them fall to the floor. “Get up.”

  


Ray whines, loud and pathetically, curling up on his side. “Fuck you,” he groans, kicking a foot out in Brad’s direction. He misses by a mile, but it seems to make him feel better. “The alarm hasn’t even gone off.”

  


”I’ll turn on the lights,” Brad threatens. He grabs Ray’s ankle when he kicks out again and tugs Ray down the bed. “Get your lazy, whiskey tango ass out of my bed, Person. Put on some clothes. We’ve got a job to do.”

  


”I hate you,” Ray says bitterly. He tugs his ankle free from Brad’s grasp and sits up slowly. He yawns, wiping his eyes half-heartedly and glowers at Brad. “You know, just because the Senator likes to go jogging at ass o’clock in the morning doesn’t mean this is when we’ve gotta jump him.”

  


”It’s a Saturday,” Brad says blandly. “The Senator will be at his office for a short period of time, then home with his family. This early in the morning is the only time you can take out Wynn while I deliver the message.”

  


”Yeah, about that,” Ray says. He stretches his arms above him and his legs spread easily on either side of Brad’s hips. The muscles tense for a second, before Ray’s entire body goes slack and he flops back onto the bed. “Why can’t I kill Wynn? Won’t he just get in the way again later?”

  


”Ray,” Brad says tiredly, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know why we can’t kill Wynn. Godfather won’t be happy about a dead body floating around and I’ll be the one punished for you being a stubborn, inbred hick who can’t follow directions. Stop wasting time and get dressed.”

  


Ray hooks his ankles around the back of Brad’s knees and tugs lightly. “Chill, homes. We’ve got like half an hour before we have to go anywhere. Wouldn’t you rather get naked first?”

  


”No,” Brad scowls. He pinches the back of Ray’s shin roughly, and backs out of Ray’s reach before he can lash out with his legs. “I’m going to go double check the file.”

  


”Brad, seriously, you’ve already double and triple checked the file,” Ray huffs out. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and scowls. “It’s only been a few weeks since we’ve had to stalk the man, I doubt his routine has changed that much. It’s the same basic thing he’s been doing for years now.”

  


Brad knows Ray is right. Dealing with Senators is complicated though, especially when they’ve got smart men like Wynn on their security detail. It’s too risky to let any details slip by. If they fuck up, they can get hurt. If they piss Godfather off by fucking up, they will definitely be feeling the hurt one way or another and Brad isn’t looking forward to his body washing up along the Potomac somewhere.

  


Ray’s looking at Brad like he knows what Brad’s thinking, and maybe he does. They’ve been doing this job together for long enough to be able to read each other, to know what the other is thinking and feeling even without speaking. Sighing heavily, Ray pushes himself up into a sitting position, his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, and he runs a hand through his short, messy hair. “Okay, okay. But if you’re hitting that coffee house, bring me something back.”

  


”You’re an idiot,” Brad says, but it’s without any real inflection. He doesn’t say ‘no’ though, and it probably has something to do with the reason Ray is suddenly smiling up at him. Brad scowls at him, shaking his head and leaving the room. “Work, Ray.”

  


”I know, I know,” Ray bitches. He stumbles after Brad tiredly, rubbing at his eyes and yawning as he trails off to his own bedroom to find clothes.

  


Brad takes a moment to stop outside Ray’s door and watch him stumble around for clothes, before shaking his head and sighing. Ray is a complicated, pain in the ass, but Brad wouldn’t trust anyone else to have his six with a job like this. Or any job, really.

  
\- - -  


The sun is just barely over the horizon when Brad makes it to the little coffee shop where Christopher Fick likes to go after his morning runs. He leans against the brick wall at the front of the building with an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. His Android is in his fingers as he pretends to check the weather and the news while he waits.

  


Here in this part of DC no one bothers him. No one could care less about one guy leaning against a building and keeping to himself, just waiting. Closer to the heart of the city, the fact he’s been leaning against a building and rolling the same cancer stick in his mouth for twenty minutes might draw attention to him, but not out here. No one cares. It’s perfect.

  


Brad doesn’t have to wait long. He’s just finished skimming the breaking news headlines from CNN when he catches his target out of the corner of his eyes. Brad keeps his gaze down, the bill of his baseball cap shadowing his face, and he hopes that the Senator is too focused on his feet hitting the cement and the music from his iPod to notice Brad.

  


And in a show of good luck for Brad, he is. It’s not until Fick is in front of Brad, Brad reaching out to curl his fingers around Fick’s elbows tightly, does the Senator even notice Brad’s there.

  


”We need to talk,” Brad says calmly.

  


Fick struggles lightly, startled. His face goes ashen when he looks at who’s holding his arm, and he stops struggling altogether. “Now really isn’t a good time – “

  


Brad tugs the Senator’s elbow lightly, leading him to the side of the building. It’s shadowed, but not terribly so, and Brad is careful to keep his grip just tight enough to keep Fick from fleeing and his expression light enough to detract attention. They’re just two guys getting out of the way of the city’s sleepy inhabitants as they stumble in for their morning addictions.

  


”You should count yourself lucky,” Brad says. He lets go of Fick’s elbow. He watches green eyes flick between Brad and the street, weighing his odds of getting out of here. Brad steps closer, draws up his height, and Fick melts back against the side of the building. “Godfather hasn’t tacked on any interest on the loan he gave you. Five months is a long time to go without paying him back.”

  


Fick holds up his hands in a placating, disarming gesture. When Brad doesn’t outright threaten him, or pull a gun, he relaxes. He stands to his full height, claiming the space. He was startled, he’s intimidated, and he hasn’t had his coffee yet, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s one hell of a politician. Even if he is corrupt.

  


“Godfather said I had six months,” the Senator says. “I’ve still got a month left to come up with the money.”

  


”Godfather changed his mind,” Brad replies coolly. “He’s given you one week to pay back the money you owe.”

  


”Son of a – “ Fick says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, before shooting Brad a pissed off look. “I don’t have that kind of money lying around. I need more time.”

  


”While we’ve been chatting here, my associate has taken it upon himself to take out the man in charge of your private security detail,” Brad says. “Wynn. Good man. Good record.”

  


”No!”

  


Brad ignores Fick’s interruption and keeps talking. “He’ll live,” Brad says coolly. “Next time, we won’t be so nice and we’ll grab one of your kids. Godfather wants his money.”

  


”You leave my kids out of this,” Fick says, his voice shaking. “They’ve got nothing to do with any of this.”

  


”This is your only warning,” Brad says. He stares at the Senator unblinkingly until Fick’s steely gaze breaks and he looks back out at the street. “You’ll hear from someone in a few days as a reminder.”

  


”Fuck you,” Fick says. “Tell Godfather I’ll get him his Goddamn money.”

  


”I certainly hope so,” Brad replies icily. “I’d hate to have to hurt one of your girls.”

  


Fick lashes out at Brad with a fist but despite the suddenness of it, Brad blocks the blow easily. He shoves Fick back against the wall, but doesn’t hit him.

  


”I’d be careful about who I throw punches at, and where,” Brad says. “You are still a Senator.”

  


Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, Brad turns on his heel and leaves Christopher Fick alone against the side of the building. He doesn’t have to look to know the Senator only takes a second to freak out before regaining his composure. Brad bets dollars to doughnuts the man is going to go inside and buy a coffee before he goes home and breaks down.

  


Brad’s already back on his bike and halfway across the city before he remembers Ray wanted coffee. There’s no way for Brad to carry it though, so he shakes his head and focuses on getting home without a tail. He doubts anyone was watching him with the Senator, but it never hurts to be careful.

  
\- - -  


Ray isn’t home when Brad gets back, but Brad isn’t worried. It’s actually kind of nice to have the house to himself. It’s quiet. It’ll give Brad time and chance to tidy up and wash dishes, to step in the shower and just think without Ray rambling and distracting him.

  


Before Brad can do any of that, though, he has to make a phone call. It doesn’t take long. Godfather picks up on the third ring and Brad simply says, “The message has been passed on.”

  


” _Good_ ,” Godfather says. “ _Don’t fuck this up._ ”

  


”Of course not,” Brad says, and it’s almost insulting. There’s a reason Brad is always chosen for ops. He’s not just good, he’s the best.

  


” _Call if you have to resort to Stage Two_ ,” Godfather replies, and before Brad can agree, Godfather hangs up and Brad is left listening to the dial tone.

  


He debates, briefly, calling Ray and checking in on him. He decides against it though because one) Ray can take care of himself, he is a grown-ass man and two) he doesn’t want to interrupt Ray if he’s failed to complete the job yet. Ray knows his stuff, knows what he’s doing. Brad isn’t worried about him. Not yet.

  


There’s nothing for Brad to do but wait.

  
\- - -  


”Do you ever think you’re in the wrong line of work?” Ray asks. He’s barely in the door and already stripping out of his clothes and his shoes, letting them fall to the floor and leaving them there.

  


Brad doesn’t know what spawned the question, but he doubts Ray is asking because of an existential crisis. “Where the fuck have you been?”

  


”Ran into Kocher, traded intel. Found Meesh. Fucker tried to rip me off,” Ray says, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I took care of Wynn. He got carted off in an ambulance before he bled to death, didn’t see me. I know what I’m doing.”

  


There are moments, times like now, where Brad wishes he could swallow his gun. Banging his head on the wall just doesn’t cut it these days. He brings a hand up to rub at his temples, trying to quell the start of a headache. “Ray.”

  


”Anyways, back to my original question,” Ray says. He checks the safety on his gun before he tosses it onto the arm of the couch, the matte black surface of it only visible for a moment before it falls over the edge. Ray is totally indifferent to it, pulling his belt through the loops of his jeans before he tosses it aside as well and forces his way onto Brad’s lap.

  


Brad’s hands rise instinctively to hold Ray’s hips. He tries to push Ray away, but Ray’s thighs tighten on either side of Brad’s lap and he grabs onto Brad’s shoulders. “Ray – “

  


”I mean, think about it,” Ray continues. He pinches one of Brad’s nipples through his shirt and Brad squirms, backhanding Ray in the stomach roughly. “Ow, fucker!” He glowers at Brad, but doesn’t retaliate, tracing his thumbs along Brad’s jaw. “It’s not like we can go around advertising what we do to pick up chicks.”

  


”You dislike the job because it doesn’t get your dick wet?” Brad asks, quirking an eyebrow. He doesn’t ask if he’s not good enough, because there’s no way he’s letting the wiry motherfucker top him any time soon. Brad would say ever, but Ray has a way with words, when he wants to.

  


”And because the dental plan sucks,” Ray says, nodding. “Speaking of which, you should probably suck me off.”

  


”And why the fuck would I want to do that?” Brad asks. He isn’t opposed to the thought on principle and he’s used to Ray’s shitty segues, but Ray’s attitude could use some work. He can hardly reward negative behaviors. Still, it doesn’t stop him from dragging his thumbs along Ray’s hipbones slowly.

  


”Because I’ll return the favor?” Ray tries. He blinks at Brad slowly, but the innocent look only lasts for a second before a grin spreads across Ray’s face. “Wait, homes, did I tell you I ran into Eric?”

  


Scraping his nails across Ray’s skin slowly, Brad starts to undo the buttons on Ray’s jeans. “You may have mentioned it,” Brad comments. He takes his time, popping them one by one, and Ray arches his hips forward impatiently. “You traded intel.”

  


”What?” Ray asks, distracted. “Oh, yeah. He was doing some touch up work for Godfather’s files I guess, or something. Who the fuck knows what Godfather wants these days. Anyway – “ Ray’s breath stutters when Brad gets a hand on him, and he tightens his grip on Brad’s shoulders “ – he says the Fick boy is back in town for Spring Break.”

  


Brad pauses, looking up at Ray’s face. He pulls his hand out of the front of Ray’s jeans when Ray arches his hips forward again, and Brad grabs Ray’s hips to keep him still. “The son’s in town? How long?”

  


”You seriously want to talk about this  _now_?” Ray asks incredulously. “Homes, we’re kind of in the middle of something here.” He squirms in Brad’s grip, making a frustrated sound when Brad just tightens his hold on Ray and keeps him tethered in place. “Fuck you, Brad.”

  


”Ray,” Brad says, annoyed. “Just answer the damn question.”

  


”I don’t know. Eric and I weren’t really in the kind of place where we can swap the dirty details,” Ray says, equally as frustrated. “Brad, if you don’t touch my dick right now, I swear to God I’m going to punch you in the face.”

  


For a moment, Brad is genuinely torn between obeying Ray and calling Kocher to get whatever details he has to offer. He hates being thrown for a curveball in the middle of an operation, but for once, this little piece of information might work to Brad’s advantage.

  


Part of Brad’s thought line must show on his face, because Ray makes an impatient sound and lets go of Brad’s shoulders. “Fuck you,” Ray scowls, and he shoves a hand down the front of his jeans. He moans, tipping his head back, and starts to stroke himself in earnest. “I’ll just do it -  _ah_  - myself.”

  


”You’re so impatient,” Brad says, shaking his head. He drags Ray forward by his hips, leaning closer to nip at Ray’s earlobe lightly, breathing hotly against his ear. “Stop.”

  


Ray makes an impatient sound, but he stops. He grabs both of Brad’s shoulders again and mouths at the curve of Brad’s jaw in impatience. “Come on, Brad, Jesus fuck. You can’t leave a guy hanging like this.”

  


And Brad knows he shouldn’t encourage Ray’s behavior, but it’s insane to think he could actually control any part of Ray in the first place. He heaves a put upon sigh before he tugs at Ray’s jeans. Ray arches his hips up, making it easier for Brad to pull them further down Ray’s thighs and out of the way before Ray settles in his lap again. Brad wraps his fingers around Ray loosely. “Tell me everything you know.”

  


”Right now?” Ray asks, his breath catching. When he tries to roll his hips up to meet Brad’s fist, Brad slackens his grip. “Fuck, I don’t know. Nathaniel Fick. Goes to Dartmouth. Used to do Track or something. Twenties.” He whines impatiently, reaching for himself again, but Brad catches his wrist. “Goddammit, Brad. Now is not the time for you to get kinky on me. Especially if you’re not going to blow me, you giant circumcised dick.”

  


Everything Ray has to offer is pretty much what Brad recalls their file on Christopher Fick as saying. They hadn’t done a ton of research on the Fick son since he didn’t seem to be majorly important to the grand scheme of things because he didn’t live at home most of the year. It means they don’t have much on his routine, but it might be easier to grab him then one of the girls should it come to phase two. People would be less likely to ask questions when Nate went missing.

  


”Brad,” Ray whines. He tugs his wrist away from Brad and fists his fingers into the front of Brad’s shirt, digging his nails into Brad’s shoulder with the other. He doesn’t roll his hips up for more, but Brad knows Ray well enough to know that it’s a bitch for Ray to fight the urge. “God _dammit_.”

  


”Shh,” Brad whispers soothingly against Ray’s cheek. He waits until Ray stops fidgeting impatiently and relaxes his grip on Brad before Brad tightens his grip and starts to stroke Ray off proper.

  
\- - -  


Eric is already seated at the diner when Brad shows up, picking at some cheesy chili fries while he waits. He doesn’t look up when Brad joins him, but he doesn’t look surprised, either. He’s been surprisingly uninterested about everything since Brad called him for a meeting. “So, you know normally I couldn’t care less about finding out what your jobs are.”

  


”Then don’t ask,” Brad replies. He shakes his head when Eric nudges the plate towards him, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out already.”

  


”Man, the minute you called I knew how this was going to go down,” Eric says. He continues to pick at his food for a minute before he gives up and wipes his hand on a napkin. “Just wait a second. Trust me.”

  


Brad is suspicious of the words, but he doesn’t let it show. He does trust Eric, because Eric is one of the few men Brad has actually seen do his job and he does it very well. He serves under Captain America though, so Brad’s not sure how far Eric’s sanity is stretched and, if it hasn’t snapped yet, how much longer it will last. Before Brad can say anything, Eric shoots Brad a pointed look before slowly trailing his eyes in the direction of their waiter.

  


It’s a boy. Or man, technically, but boy seems to fit the soft features much more appropriately. There’s a nametag sticker on his chest, but Brad just has to look at the dark gray ‘D’ on the faded green T-shirt to know why Eric said they should meet here. “Hi, I’m Nate,” he says, smiling brightly. He taps his pencil against the order pad in time with the music humming from the radio. “Can I get you anything?”

  


Brad shoots Eric a suspicious glance, before looking at Nate again. “Just water, thank you.”

  


Nate quirks an eyebrow, stilling the tapping of his pencil. He looks at Eric, but Eric shakes his head. Nate seems to shrug it off, tucking his order pad in his back pocket. “I’ll be right back with your water, then.”

  


”Does the kid always work when he’s on break?” Brad asks, watching Nate stop by to check up on another one of his tables. He’s pointedly not checking out Nate’s ass, because as easy as it is to admire pretty when he sees it, it’s dangerous to see it in a boy he might have to kidnap in a day or two. “Shouldn’t he be out partying with his friends?”

  


”Near as I can tell, he wasn’t supposed to work today. This is his summer job,” Eric replies. He sips at his Coke and leans back in his seat. Pulling a flash drive out of his pocket, Eric tosses it across the table and Brad catches it easily. “That’s got everything you’ll ever need to know about the kid. Feel free to double check the details, but I put that file together myself.”

  


Brad smiles, pocketing the flash drive. He likes that Eric isn’t the type of guy to get upset if Brad doesn’t completely trust the information presented to him. Brad’s met other guys in the job who get pissy when Brad runs the details again, or has Ray do it. Brad’s also seen good men die because they couldn’t bother to verify what they know.

  


The passing of the flash drive is as good sign as any to end the conversation and Brad picks at Eric’s cheesy chili fries half-heartedly. “So. Any news?”

  


”All is quiet on the Western front,” Eric replies, shrugging aimlessly. “City is quiet. Big things should be happening, people should be out causing mayhem if nothing else, but Godfather is keeping everything close to his chest right now. Ever since he lost that shipment a couple of weeks ago due to stupidity he’s been reevaluating some of the guys. So I’m told.”

  


”I remember that,” Brad says. He wasn’t involved, thankfully. Neither was Ray, which is even better, because Ray has been known to test the boundaries when it comes to Godfather’s favor. Not for fucking up, but for never shutting up. Not even about the job, just talking in general. “That was one of Patterson’s teams.”

  


”Sobel, yeah. I can’t imagine Godfather’s surprise when he heard some of Patterson’s guys fucked up,” Eric agrees. He bites his tongue for a moment when Nate approaches, and they both glance up at the waiter.

  


”Can I get you guys anything else?” Nate asks, carefully placing the glass in front of Brad so it doesn’t spill. Nate’s smiling, still, and it’d be distracting if Brad let it. He’s really too pretty for his own good.

  


”We’re good, thanks,” Eric says. He flashes Nate a thin smile and a thumbs up, but Nate doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the sardonic nature of it. He waits until Nate leaves again before taking another drink from his Coke and continues. “I don’t think Patterson’s men have ever fucked up, not that badly.”

  


”Patterson’s good,” Brad says. He nibbles at the fries, more for something to do than anything else, before taking a drink from his water. It’s cold. Brad smiles, and he isn’t sure why. “Let’s just hope `reevaluating` means guys like Encino Man and Captain America are taken out of the picture.”

  


Eric laughs, a bitter sound. “I sincerely doubt it, but here’s hoping.”

  
\- - -  


Ray is exactly where Brad left him when Brad gets back to the house. He’s in nothing but a ratty wifebeater and Diesel smalls, but at least he isn’t lounging around on the couch naked. Brad can tolerate a lot, but there are some things that just go too far. “How was lunch with Kocher?” Ray asks, his eyes on flicking away from his game for a second to check out to make sure Brad is in one piece before he’s glancing away again.

  


Brad nudges Ray’s shoulder lightly, pushing him towards the center of the couch so he can claim Ray’s corner spot. He grabs his laptop off of the coffee table and fires it up. “There wasn’t much to be said. He pointed out the kid. He works in a shitty little diner.”

  


”Homes, what? The kid’s dad is a Senator, why the fuck would he be working in a diner? Why’s he working at all?” Ray asks, frowning. He slouches back on the couch and presses his cheek against Brad’s shoulder, watching his laptop load. “Fuckin’ rich kids. Was he hot at least? Nothing worse than a person you can’t objectify. Fucking Christ.”

  


”Yeah,” Brad replies without really thinking about it. There’s no point in denying it, even if he doesn’t exactly agree with Ray’s words. He shoots Ray an annoyed look for his hovering, but Ray has already melted against his side and turned his attentions back to the TV again. “Have you been playing  _Halo_  since I left?”

  


”Pretty much?” Ray spends a lot of time playing  _Halo_ , but so does Brad, so it’s hardly like he can complain. He pauses his game when Brad plugs the flash drive in, taking a moment to stretch and groan loudly. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

  


”You’ve barely done anything all day,” Brad says. He drums his fingers against the space bar as he waits for the flash drive to pop up, clicking the view files button without even thinking about it. It only takes a second, and Brad appreciates Eric’s ability to organize his files – unlike, say, Ray – before he clicks open an image file. “There’s our boy.”

  


”Huh,” Ray says, pressing his cheek to Brad’s shoulder again. He tries to steal the wireless mouse from Brad, but when that fails to work, he uses the track pad to scroll through the other images. “He is kind of hot.”

  


”You can’t debauch him, Ray,” Brad says, heaving a put upon sigh. “Sexual harassment is one thing, sexual assault is another.”

  


”Dude, he’s already going to be tied up,” Ray points out helpfully.

  


”Do I have to put a safety lock on the basement door to keep you from molesting him?” Brad asks. He shoots Ray a dark look, but Ray just squirms, nuzzling closer to Brad’s side and keeps clicking through the files. Brad could stop him, but he doesn’t. He continues to glare at Ray for a moment, before he glances back at his laptop screen. “If you want to get laid, go to a bar.”

  


”Dick,” Ray huffs, but he’s distracted. He tries again to nudge Brad’s fingers away from the mouse, and this time Brad lets him. He scrolls through all of the pictures one by one, but it’s less about objectifying now and more about getting a grip on Nate. Ray can be serious, when he wants to be.

  


At first, Brad’s startled by the lack of information in Nate’s file. The useable details are either old or sparse. Considering Nate spends a good portion of his time at Dartmouth, Brad probably shouldn’t be surprised. But still, Eric’s file on him is flimsy, even with a couple of days monitoring to get his routine down.

  


”Looks like we’re going to have to do some serious stalking if you really want to take the kid,” Ray says. He releases the mouse to Brad’s control, and turns his attentions back to his video game. “I can’t go a week without having to work, can I?”

  


”Just be glad you’re not working an honest job, nine to five,” Brad replies. He pauses, then shoots Ray a wary look. “Not that you’re weasely little inbred ass could hold a job like that for more than a week.”

  


”Fuck you, my ass is awesome,” Ray shoots back, grinning up at Brad. He elbows Brad in the side roughly, wiggling his eyebrows. “For a guy who likes to be buried inside of it all the time, you have no right to complain and say it’s less than stellar.”

  


”Ray?” Brad says, bringing a hand up to massage his temples.

  


”Yeah, Brad?” Ray asks, pausing his game againt to shoot Brad an almost-innocent, wide-eyed look. He might have pulled it off if the corners of his lips weren’t pulled up in a smirk.

  


”Shut up.”

  


”Fuck you, too, Bradley,” Ray says, laughing. He squirms, melting back into the couch cushions as he gets more comfortable, and unpauses his game. “Let me know when you’re done jerking off to the co-ed and we’ll get some serious work done.”

  


For a moment, Brad is sorely tempted to hit Ray. To push him over and pin him down. But, knowing Ray, the wiry little weasel would probably actually enjoy it. So Brad just sighs heavily, nudges Ray in the ribs until he scoots farther away, and turns his attentions back to his laptop. He doesn’t deign Ray’s bitching about being shoved around with a response.

  
\- - -  


Nate Fick, it turns out, might easily be the world’s most boring college student. Or the most normal, but Ray keeps saying  _boring_ and after two days of performing surveillance and research on him, Brad is inclined to agree. Nate is a good kid. He stays out of trouble, doesn’t fight with his sisters or parents. Those odd few hours he spends with another boy, blond, a little shorter than Nate, they spend inside or out walking the other boy’s dog.

  


”Walt,” Ray says when he skims through the files. Facebook has made it ridiculously easy to gather information on Nate and his friends. “Walt Hasser. They’re roommates at Dartmouth. They grew up attached at the hip. They’re so gay together I’m actually impressed they’re not fucking. Isn’t that what you do at college? Suck off your roommate and it’s not gay, ‘cause you’re experimenting? Fuck, I bet you’d have been popular, Iceman. Entire campus would line up to get a taste of you.”

  


Brad shoots Ray an annoyed look, but bites his tongue and doesn’t tell him to shut up like he wants to. He’s drawn out a list of things Nate does, his routine, but it’s shaky to pin point it down exactly when they’ve only got two days of information and Eric’s notes. Tapping his red pen against the tabletop, Brad bites the inside of his cheek. “What do you think the odds are of the Senator having twenty-five grand by tomorrow morning?”

  


Ray looks up from the pictures of Nate, glancing at Brad, Brad’s notes, then back to the pictures. He rests his chin in his palm, drumming his fingers against the table slowly. “Not very good. The dude has had five months.” He traces a finger over Nate’s face slowly, thoughtfully, before looking up at Brad again. “He’s got maybe, ten, twelve grand. Isn’t that how it always works?”

  


Making a soft sound in agreement, Brad drops his pen and leans back in his seat. It’s late, and his back protests as he stretches out. He can feel Ray’s eyes checking out the strip of his stomach where his shirt rides up and his skin is showing, but Brad doesn’t have it in him to act on it right now. “We’ll call in the morning,” he says, slumping back in his seat. “If he doesn’t have the money, we’ll grab the kid after he goes to the gym.”

  


”You sure he’s going to go?” Ray asks, but he sounds more resigned than curious. It’s late, and Brad cut him off from the coffee machine hours ago. He blinks slowly, his fingers tracing the lines of Nate’s face on the picture, and Brad isn’t sure if it’s out of actual interest or boredom. Ray has already spent most of the night describing in explicit detail exactly what he would like to do with the Fick boy’s mouth.

  


”It’s the one solid part of his routine we’ve got down,” Brad says easily. “We’ll trail him in the morning, before he leaves to be sure, but – “ he drums his fingers on the list, over the word  _gym_ , circled and underlined “ – this is where it’ll go down. Big parking lot. No security cameras. In the middle of the day, no one will even notice.”

  


Ray stares at Brad for a moment, thinking about it, before shrugging his shoulders weakly. “Do you want to double check the basement before bed or should I?”

  


”Go to bed, Ray,” Brad says. “And before you bitch it’s because I don’t trust you, I trust you more when you’ve had more than three hours of sleep and aren’t high off of who knows what just to stay awake.” He gives Ray a pointed look, but Ray just rolls his eyes in exasperation. Softer, Brad says, “Get some sleep. It’s going to be a long week.”

  


For a moment, Ray looks tempted to be petulant. He gives the clock on the microwave a bleary eyed glance though before apparently deciding against it. He stretches when he stands, groaning and grumbling under his breath. “We’re taking a fucking vacation to Rio de Janeiro when this is over with, you hear me?”

  


Brad opens his mouth to ask  _Why Rio?_ , but he’s cut off by the rough press of Ray’s lips to his forehead. Ray’s fingers are warm where they cup his face, holding him in place, and Brad just blinks at him. “Ray?”

  


”Rio, Brad,” Ray says, letting go and stepping back. “I’m holding you to this. I expect an honest Goddamn vacation for all the shit I put up with.” He turns on his heels and walks out of the kitchen, humming to himself sleepily as he makes his way through the house.

  


Brad’s not entirely sure why Ray is complaining, because this is the first job they’ve taken in a few weeks. He’s also not sure how he feels about how he feels going to Rio de Janeiro with Ray, but they can sort the details on that out later, after the job is done.

  


Shaking his head, Brad tells himself  _later_  and focuses on grabbing up all of their materials and putting them in a folder. He’ll tuck them away in a lockbox in the office, but first he wants to stop and triple check to check the locks on the room in the basement. The last minute reassurances won’t do any good, Brad’s already checked and checked again, but there’s nothing wrong with being prepared.

  


Even if Ray does insist this makes Brad an OCD asshole with too much time on his hands and not enough common sense to spend it doing something fun, like fucking. Ray’s words, almost exactly.

  


Still, Brad checks the locks and when he’s satisfied they’ll hold, he steps into the room to double and triple check there is absolutely nothing Nate could possibly use to escape or harm himself. The room is cleared, the cameras are in position and the green light is blinking at him slowly. Brad takes a moment to straighten the plain, dark comforter on the bed before he decides the room is as ready as it’ll ever be and calls it a night.

  
\- - -  


Brad dreams of the ocean, of endless blue waters and a bright, sandy beach. The water is salty and cold, the sun beating down on his back as he wades out into deeper waters on his board. He can see Ray on the beach still, half naked and chatting up two scantily clad girls. Ray’s got his sunglasses on, the stupid gold pimp shades that Brad loves more than he’ll ever admit, and when Ray catches Brad starting, he gets the two girls to wave.

  


He wakes up when he feels a sharp jab in his sides, just under his ribs. He exhales sharply, cursing under his breath, but Ray just elbows him again, less roughly, as he tries to roll over. His head is pillowed on Brad’s arm, and there’s a wet chill from what Brad can only assume was Ray drooling, and he’s too tired to be disgusted.

  


Pushing Ray away gently, Brad wipes his arm clean with the corner of a sheet. He lets Ray sleep for now, because the alarm hasn’t gone off and there is no point in waking him up quite yet. Brad has long since learned the more sleep Ray gets, the more tolerable he’ll be.

  


For a moment, he’s content to watch the gentle rise and fall of Ray’s chest, but he doesn’t stick around for long. He needs a shower, and he needs to check their supplies before they head out. Just because the alarm hasn’t gone off doesn’t mean they aren’t against the clock.

  


By the time Brad has showered and gotten dressed, made himself some toast for breakfast and put on the coffee, Ray is just only stumbling down the steps and wiping his eyes tiredly. He hasn’t showered and his hair is sticking up. When Ray collapse in a chair at the kitchen, he shoots Brad a pathetic look and makes a needy sound.

  


”Coffee will be done in a minute,” Brad says, shaking his head and sighing. He hands Ray a piece of his toast, watching Ray nibble at it slowly, the crumbs spilling all over the tabletop. Brad would be disgusted, but this is pretty on par course for Ray, so he settles for just sitting across from Ray and eating his own toast.

  


They sit in silence together, each of them munching on their toast and lost in their own thoughts. The coffee maker drips softly, and Brad doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that that’s what Ray’s staring at, waiting mostly patiently for once. Ray’s leg is swinging under the table though, his toes bumping against Brad’s shin every few swings, but he isn’t kicking out hard enough to hurt.

  


The pot’s barely done brewing before Ray is on his feet pouring himself a cup, and Brad smiles despite himself. There’s another quiet moment where Ray takes a drink from his cup, letting out a soft, pleased sound. Before Brad can turn around and get up, Ray is placing a cup in front of him as well. When Ray returns to his seat across from Brad, he’s already starting to look more alive.

  


Taking a sip from his cup, Brad finishes off the last of his toast and wipes his hand on a napkin. “Do you want to trail Nate this morning or do you want to stay here and finish prepping?” Brad asks. There isn’t any prep work to be done, because Brad can’t let something this important wait until the last minute. It’s just an offer to let Ray stay home, to relax before the show kicks off. If the show kicks off.

  


Ray just shrugs a thin shoulder and keeps sipping from his coffee. His expression is less distant, but it’ll still be a few minutes before he’s awake enough to vomit out diatribes about whatever comes to mind. “We’ll both be seeing enough of his pretty face soon enough.”

  


Brad stretches his leg out under the table, resting his foot on top of Ray’s. “You can stay home and play  _Halo_  for a few hours,” Brad says. “If Nate heads to the gym, I’ll call you. We should be fine. Everything’s laid out already.”

  


”This isn’t my first rodeo, you know,” Ray points out, smiling tiredly at Brad over the lip of his cup. He frees his foot from underneath of Brad’s, but doesn’t pull away, just presses their ankles together. “This isn’t exactly rocket science, homes.”

  


Ray’s easy assurances do nothing to ease the heavy feeling that always fills the pit of Brad’s stomach before a job, but he forces a smile at Ray anyways. Draining the last of his coffee in one go, Brad stands up and drops his cup off in the sink. “I’ll call you in a few hours,” he says, turning on the sink to rinse out his cup. He doesn’t tell Ray to not fuck this up, but he’s pretty sure it’s implied.

  
\- - -  


Brad takes the Escalade when he leaves, even though it’s hardly his favorite mode of transportation. He can’t kidnap anyone on his bike though and he doubts a tall guy like Nate would fit – comfortably or not – into the trunk of his Aston Martin. While Brad’s sure he could always  _try_  to get Nate to fit, they run the risk of getting caught and he doesn’t want to damage his car. Or Nate. More than they have to, anyway.

  


Ray can say what he wants about Brad being a whore for anything with wheels, but Brad paid good money for each and every one of his vehicles and he’s not going to let them get banged up if he can help it.

  


Nate is embarrassingly easy to trail. He doesn’t even notice Brad in the Escalade, just climbs into a Volvo that’s seen better days and leaves. He’s a good driver, patient, despite the pain in the ass that is the hornet’s nest of DC traffic. There are no stops between the house and gym, and Brad is lucky enough to get a spot just a row over from Nate.

  


As soon as Nate is inside the shiny building, Brad pulls out his cellphone and texts Ray, telling him to get his skinny ass down here in the off chance Brad will need the backup. He doesn’t wait for Ray to reply, just tosses the phone on the seat next to him and pulls out an untraceable phone. It’s got garish pink plastic, but for $15, Brad will take what he can get.

  


The number he dials he’s already learned by heart. It’s written down in a file back at the office, and Brad isn’t dumb enough to put it into the memory of his own phone. It only takes a moment for the phone to start ringing, and the Senator picks up after a minute.

  


” _Hello_?”

  


”Senator,” Brad says. He stretches his legs out as best he can, keeping his attention focused on the main doors in case Nate decides to leave early and fuck over their entire plan. “How are you doing on getting Godfather’s money?”

  


” _Son of a -_ ” Fick starts. He sounds exhausted, even over the phone, and Brad idly wonders if his family has noticed, if they know anything about  _why_. Probably not. “ _I’ll get Godfather’s money. I’ve got seventeen thousand right now. I can’t exactly start pulling out of my kids’ college savings._ ”

  


”You will if that’s what it takes,” Brad replies coolly. “Godfather doesn’t care how you get the money, just as long as he gets paid back in the end.”

  


” _I still have five days_ ,” Fick says with determination. “ _Tell Godfather he’ll get his Goddamn money._ ”

  


”Oh, I have no doubts about that,” Brad says agreeably. “This was just a friendly reminder.”

  


” _Like I could possibly forget_ ,” Fick says with a bitten off laugh. “ _I have to go. Godfather will get his money, don’t worry._ ” He hangs up.

  


Brad shoots the phone a dark glare, annoyed at being hung up on, before he tosses it into the seat next to him. He relaxes back into his seat, content to just watch the door to the gym in case Nate decides to leave early. When it gets closer to the hour mark, Brad’ll get out of the Escalade and stalk Nate proper, but for now, he waits.

  
\- - -  


Ray shows up eventually, knocking on the side of the Escalade until Brad unlocks the door and he can climb in. He has a key but Ray’s terrible at keeping track of what he does with them and Brad’s long since given up on expecting Ray to remember. He slides into the passenger seat easily though, grabbing both the phones in the seat with one fist. He takes a drink from his soda before he offers Brad the bottle of Mountain Dew.

  


Brad only stares at it for a second before he accepts it and takes a drink. “Did you bring your truck?” Brad asks, accepting the phones when Ray passes those back to him as well. He tucks his own phone into his pocket, and the pink one in the middle compartment. He hands the Mountain Dew back to Ray.

  


”Cab,” Ray says, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “To the subway stop a few blocks over. Snagged that from a vendor on my way. It’s fucking cold out.” He’s fidgeting, running his fingers over everything and smearing fingerprints onto the clean surfaces and Brad has to restrain from smacking Ray’s hand. Ray’s foot is tapping incessantly in a broken rhythm.

  


When Brad gives Ray a pointed look, narrowing his eyes, Ray just makes a face. “Dude, chill, I’m just on caffeine and no smokes,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “How much longer are we going to have to wait? I hate this part of ops. I’m not suited for the _hurry up and wait_  bullshit.”

  


There’s a  _no kidding_  on the tip of Brad’s tongue, but he bites it back. Instead, he grabs the soda bottle out of Ray’s hands to take another drink and turns his attention back to the front doors of the gym. “A few minutes. We’ll be on our way in less than an hour. You took your time getting here.”

  


”Jeez, I said I was sorry,” Ray scoffs, even though Brad thinks he would remember if Ray had apologized. “Traffic sucked on the way in. I should have just brought my truck or bummed along with you. Not that either of those would have been any better, but at least we could be listening to music right now.”

  


”Garth Brooks and Taylor Swift aren’t real music, Ray,” Brad says, exasperated.

  


”Yeah, well, neither is Air Supply,” Ray shoots back, grinning. “And fuck you, I don’t listen to Taylor Swift. I know how  _Romeo & Juliet_ ends. It’s not a fucking happy ending. What kind of story is that, anyway? Two teenagers killing themselves after knowing each other for three days? Fuck that. No pussy is worth death.”

  


Brad wishes he had no idea what Ray was talking about, but he won’t deign Ray with the glee of admitting it. He just grits his teeth and takes another sip from the soda. He’s content to sit silently, half-listening to Ray ramble about Taylor Swift and Shakespeare and porn. It’s an acceptable amount of background noise, not too much that Brad can’t focus.

  


When enough time passes, Brad glances over at Ray and tells him to “Shut up, Ray,” mid-tirade. He waits for Ray to shut his mouth, unhappy expression on his face, before Brad nods vaguely in direction of the gym. “Ask him for a light or the time so I can get behind him.” He passes Ray the keys to the Escalade slowly. “We’ll get him in the trunk and go.”

  


”I know the plan, Brad,” Ray points out, but he doesn’t offer any stubborn rebuttals. Just opens the door and slides out of the Escalade again. He’s stretching lazily when Brad climbs out, and Ray flashes Brad a brilliant grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Easy as pie, homes. I’m adorable and irresistible.”

  


Brad scoffs, shaking his head. He’s got a dishrag and chloroform in the pocket of his leather jacket, and he shoves his hands in after them, just to make sure they’re out of sight and safe. “Focus, Ray,” he says, before meandering away from the Escalade. He moves away from Ray, from Nate’s car, but he loiters close enough to keep an eye on Ray.

  


They don’t have to wait long for Nate. He’s not paying attention to anything but the cellphone in his hand, fingers skimming over the keys as he texts. His gym bag is bright red, and he constantly has to adjust it to keep it from slipping off of his shoulder as he walks. He couldn’t have painted himself an easier target if he tried.

  


Ray popping up startles Nate, obviously. There’s a cigarette dangling between Ray’s lips and he’s gesturing vaguely and miming a light. Ray’s words don’t carry, not over the wind and the hum of the city, but he’s the perfect distraction. He manages to hold Nate’s attention, making a triumphant sound when Nate actually starts to pat down his pockets.

  


It’s easy enough to slip behind Nate without him noticing. Brad’s a professional, moving quietly comes as easily to him as breathing does. There’s no one in the parking lot to see them when Brad brings the rag up to Nate’s face, and grabbing him from behind.

  


Nate lashes out immediately. He gets his elbow into Brad’s ribs in a solid smack, but Brad grunts and bears through it. He struggles, squirming, but the chloroform wins out. The few heartbeats it takes for the chemical to kick in and for Nate to go slack in Brad’s arms drag out, impossibly long. Sometime during the struggle his phone and bag fell, but Ray’s already snatched them up and moved to unlock the trunk of the Escalade.

  


Nate is heavier than he looks, all deadweight, but Brad scoops him and carries him to the Escalade easily. The trunk isn’t exactly roomy, not for someone of Nate’s height, but Brad tucks him into the back as carefully as he can. Nate only bangs his head once, but Brad can’t be bothered to feel guilty about it.

  


By the time he makes sure Nate is secure and shuts the trunk, Ray has already climbed into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine. Brad climbs into the passenger’s seat easily, clicking on his seatbelt and glancing in the rearview mirror. They should probably do something about Nate’s car, but no one will notice one lonely Volvo in the middle of the day. Not before they make the call anyway.

  


“Let’s go, Ray,” Brad says, turning his attention back out the front window. There’s a little bit of Mountain Dew left in the bottle, and Brad snags it off the floor in front of him to drain the last of it in a long swallow.

  


”Like I’d want to stick around,” Ray snorts, shaking his head. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, humming under his breath as he puts the Escalade in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. “You going to call Godfather?”

  


Brad makes an exasperated sound, but he pulls out his phone anyway. The call to Godfather is short, and Brad doesn’t have to wait long for Godfather to answer. “We’ve moved onto Phase Two,” Brad says, skipping the pleasantries entirely. “We grabbed the son.”

  


” _Good_ ,” Godfather says. His raspy voice is hard to hear over the hum of the Escalade, and Brad presses the phone closer to his ear. “ _Don’t kill the boy if you don’t have to. If you have to hurt him to make a point…_ ”

  


Brad glances up into the rearview mirror, even though Nate isn’t visible in it. “Understood, sir.”

  


” _Keep me updated on the situation, Iceman_ ,” Godfather says, and it serves the purpose of a goodbye. Godfather hangs up, and Brad slips his phone back into his pocket.

  


Everything is quiet for a moment while Ray weaves through traffic, for once obeying the law. It wouldn’t do for them to get pulled over with an unconscious son of a Senator in their trunk now. After a while though, Ray starts fidgeting in his seat and shoots Brad a look. “Hey, homes?”

  


Brad blinks slowly, before glancing over at Ray tiredly. “What?”

  


There’s a grin on Ray’s face, and Brad knows what ever Ray is about to say he’s probably not going to like. He isn’t disappointed when Ray asks, “Do you think Nate likes pizza?”

  


Really, there isn’t anything for Brad to do but let his head bang back against the top of his seat and make an annoyed sound. “Just shut up, Ray,” Brad says, closing his eyes when Ray just laughs in response.


	3. Brad

”You know, my mom never trusted me to have a dog when I was growing up,” Ray says. He watches as Brad dumps Nate onto the bed in the basement, folding his arms over his chest and resting his hip against the doorjamb. “Said I wasn’t responsible and shit. I wasn’t mature enough to remember to like, fucking feed it and walk it.”

  


”Point, Ray?” Brad asks. He waits for Nate to stop squirming before he starts to untie the knot forcing Nate’s wrists together. Nate’s still weak enough, drowsed and confused, that Brad has no troubles rolling Nate onto his back so he can tug the cloth out of his mouth.

  


”My momma always asks when I’m going to settle down and give her grandbabies,” Ray says. “I’m not fit to take care of a dog, something I don’t have to worry about growing up into being a serial killer or a rapist, but she expects me to have kids? Fuck that. Look how I turned out. No woman in the universe would honestly trust me with a child.”

  


Brad pauses in examining Nate, checking for bruises or cuts, any kind of damage they might have accidentally done to him, in favor of staring at Ray blankly. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything, exactly?”

  


Ray pointed a finger at Nate. “Dude. We’re totally babysitting this kid for free.”

  


Brad has to resist the urge to hit Ray, or maybe strangle him a little. “Nate is twenty-three.” He doesn’t point out that Nate isn’t a kid, because that’s exactly how he’s been referring to the soft-faced boy, too. Brad has to draw the line at babysitting though. “Do I have to tie you up so you don’t molest him?”

  


”What? Fuck that,” Ray scoffs. “Fuck you, Bradley. I’m not going to molest anyone. Besides, even if I did he’d be screaming my name by the end of it.”

  


”For you to stop, maybe,” Brad says. He crosses the small room to crowd into Ray’s space, catching a palm on the doorjamb and towering over Ray. When Ray tries to pull back, Brad grabs Ray’s chin with his other hand and holds him in place. “There will be no sexual assault on Nate, do you hear me?”

  


”I may be a lot of things, Brad, but I’m not a rapist,” Ray says darkly. He tries to pull away again, but Brad just tightens his grip on Ray. “Let me go, you – “

  


Brad shuts Ray up by ducking down to kiss him, pressing their lips together dryly. He pulls back when Ray nips at his lower lip, smiling and letting go of Ray’s chin. “He’s going to wake up soon. And he’s probably going to start screaming. So, move out of the way so we can leave him to flounder and stress for a little while.”

  


”You’re going to make him come to all alone, trapped in a small room who knows where with no way to escape?” Ray asks, but he’s grinning. He pushes his hip off of the doorjamb, reaching forward to hook his fingers in Brad’s belt loops. “What if he hurts himself?”

  


Quirking an eyebrow, Brad lets Ray tug him out of the room. He reaches out with one hand to close the door behind him, waiting for it to snick shut before he reaches for Ray again. “I know how to put on a band aid. If he seriously hurts himself in a room with no pointy edges and a nailed down bed like the special ed, Ivy League dick suck that he is, we’ll call Doc Bryan.”

  


”Doc Bryan will be pissed,” Ray says. He’s still walking backwards, slowly, towards the steps that’ll take them back up into the house. “He’ll yell at you for letting the kid get banged up on your watch. He’ll yell at the kid for letting himself get kidnapped in the first place.” Ray stops moving and shuts up for a moment. “On second thought, I would  _love_  to see Doc yell at Nate for letting himself get kidnapped. Homes, how fucking awesome would that be?”

  


It would be awesome. The thought makes Brad smile despite himself, and he urges Ray to keep moving backwards. “If you want to burn off post-job adrenaline you need to keep moving,” Brad says seriously. “I have things to do before the kid is fully awake and I have to explain to him he’s here because his daddy is an idiot for getting in with the mob.”

  


”You do know  _we_  work for the mob, right?” Ray asks, blinking up at Brad. “What does that make us?”

  


”Shut up, Ray, or I won’t fuck you over the desk in the office,” Brad says. It’s hardly the worst – or most promising – threat ever, but it does the trick, so Brad’s going to go ahead and count it as a win in his book.

  
\- - -  


Brad watches Nate from the computer in his office. By the time Ray has gotten dressed and sauntered off with a satisfied smirk to cause chaos wherever he wants to next, Nate had managed to successfully sit up and his movements aren’t as floundering as they were before. Brad’s actually kind of impressed with Nate right now.

  


Nate’s confused. More than a little terrified, probably, but at least he isn’t bawling. His movements are erratic and jerky as he stumbles off of the bed, wobbling once he gets his feet under him. He doesn’t fall over, bracing himself against the curved metal of the footboard. He’s less likely to brain himself on it than one with pointy edges. Brad hates cleaning dead bodies out of his home.

  


The window with the camera has it’s volume turned down low, so if Nate is saying anything, Brad can’t hear it. He doesn’t look like he’s screaming. He just wanders over to the door and tries to open it. It’s locked, of course, because Brad isn’t an idiot. Nate tries again, putting his shoulder into it. It’s two inches thick, solid steel. Nate’s trapped in a custom built holding cell, no amount of pushing is going to get it to budge, even if it didn’t open inwards. There’s no way out.

  


Judging by the way Nate brings a hand up to his face, he’s realized this fact, too. He walks around the room slowly, one hand on the wall to balance himself as the last of the chloroform works its way through his system. There’s nothing for him to find, nothing for him to use to break out. It’s just a small room with a bed. The adjoining bathroom doesn’t have a door, but there’s a camera in there as well.

  


For a few long moments, Nate just wanders around the perimeter of the room, checking and checking. He ducks down to look under the bed, checks under the mattress. He goes into the bathroom, but there’s nothing for him to find in there but a few pairs of clothes that may or may not fit and some toiletries. There’s no razor, and the realization makes him lash out, smashing his fist on the wall.

  


Nate jerks back, bringing his fist back and cradling it to his chest. He checks his fingers and knuckles before turning around to look at the camera again. There’s a calculating expression on his face. He moves towards the camera, cocking his head to the side as he looks up, debating something. Then he’s turning his back and reaching for one of the shirts sitting on the bathroom sink. He moves quickly, tossing it up and covering the lens of the camera in one try.

  


Brad makes a frustrated noise, but he’s actually kind of impressed. Of all the times anyone may or may not have been locked in that room, Brad doesn’t think it’s ever occurred to any of them to block the cameras. It’s a good ploy to get attention.

  


Nate does the same thing to the camera in the main room, and then everything is dark. The cameras weren’t purchased and installed to be the be-all, end-all. They just needed to get the job done. Nate managed to figure out how to outsmart them before he even had a real panic attack about where he was and what was going on.

  


There are two things for Brad to do right now. He could go downstairs and fix the cameras, could takes the few things Nate does have right now away and handcuff him to the headboard so he stays out of trouble. Or he can make Nate suffer, make him squirm and wait until the room starts to spin and Nate hyperventilates or screams himself hoarse to be let free.

  


Really, there’s no question about which one Brad will do. It’s easier (and more fun) just to minimize the window the camera is streaming in since he can’t see what Nate is doing right now anyway and turn his attention to other things.

  


It won’t kill Nate to make him wait, to make him curl up in a corner and tremble and scream while he tries to figure out exactly what is going on. Nate will be with them for a few days, of that Brad has no doubt. He hates dealing with people. There’s nothing wrong with making Nate sit in silence for a few hours.

  
\- - -  


By the time Brad makes it downstairs to uncover the cameras, Nate has curled up in a corner and fallen asleep. It’s late, so Brad’s not surprised that Nate’s out cold, but he rolls his eyes at the fact Nate’s on the floor instead of the bed.

  


If Nate was drugged, maybe Brad would pick him up and move him to the bed. Brad bets dollars to doughnuts that Nate used to pass out on his bedroom floor a lot as a kid, only for his parents to come in to check on him, pick him up and tuck him under the covers. Nate’s too tall for that now, too heavy, but he’s still got a baby face and fluffy hair. His parents probably remember the days he was small enough to tuck in.

  


Brad shakes his head, scoffing. He won’t even pick Ray up off the floor after one of his benders. He couldn’t care less if Nate wakes up with a crick in his neck and pain in his back from sleeping huddled into a corner. He has a bed that he’s choosing not to sleep in. It’s not Brad’s fault. Brad just has to get him to stay alive for a few days, keep him in one piece until they either inevitably have to start cutting off fingers and toes or before they can send him home.

  


He moves quietly when he tugs the tee shirts down from the cameras, careful not to disturb the angle that they’re set at. Not that in a room this small it’d made much of a difference, but still. Brad would just have to reset it, and it’s a pain in the ass and a waste of time. When he’s got the shirt down, he folds it carefully and puts it back on the stack in the bathroom. He takes the shirt down off that camera, too.

  


For a moment, Brad just watches Nate sleep. He observes the tense set to his mouth, the furrow of his brow and listens to the small, breathless sounds he makes. A nightmare, Brad guesses, but he doesn’t wake Nate up. He turns on his heels and walks away, making sure the door to the room clicks shut behind him, securely locked.

  


This isn’t going to be the last nightmare Nate has about all of this, no matter how things turn out for him. He can either learn to cope or fall apart trying. Brad couldn’t care less which he goes with, since he’s not going to be the one to pick up the pieces.

  
\- - -  


When Brad wakes up in the morning, it’s to the feeling that something is distinctly and very much off. He fingers the gun under his pillow to make sure it’s still there, and it helps to soothe the disturbed beating of his heart. He lays still for a few tense moments, just listening.

  


He tries to think of what could have gone wrong. The Senator’s men could have somehow found where Brad and Ray live, could be creeping around with guns just waiting to stumble upon them. Nate could have broken out. Ray could be doing fuck knows what to get them in trouble.

  


Everything is quiet.

  


Brad snorts at the realization, letting go of the gun and pushes himself up onto his elbows. The far side of his bed is empty, the blankets only slightly disturbed from where Brad tugged them towards himself last night. He doesn’t have to reach over to know the mattress is cold, that Ray never crawled under the covers last night because Brad’s got the nicer mattress, the softer sheets and warmer blankets.

  


He has no idea where Ray is right now, but he tells himself he doesn’t care. Ray is Ray; he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants, wherever he wants. Brad likes it better when he doesn’t wake up with bruises on his chest and shins from Ray’s bony elbows and ankles hitting him, when there’s no puddle of drool on his chest or arm. Ray not here to snore and groan and hit means more sleep for Brad.

  


Still, it’s weird to wake up in the dark, in the quiet, and not have Ray an arm’s length away. Not that it means anything, or that Brad cares. It’s just different, unusual, and Brad is very much in favor of keeping a familiar schedule. Especially one that means he can keep an eye on Ray so they don’t end up dead or worse, at Godfather’s hands or the law’s.

  
\- - -  


The kitchen is a mess when Brad finally makes his way downstairs, an explosion of flour and eggshells and batter. Brad closes his eyes and counts to ten, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. It doesn’t help fight the urge to punch something as much as he hoped it would, but this is pretty much on par for the course of dealing with Ray related frustrations.

  


He doesn’t clean up the mess, because he’s determined to teach Ray how to at least pretend to be a civilized human being, but Brad does gather all the bowls and spoons and measuring cups and puts them into the sink, turning the water on to at least rinse them out. It’s as far as Brad is willing to go in cleaning up after Ray today.

  


The bag of flour is mostly empty when Brad shakes it, and he peers around the kitchen suspiciously. He knows how much was in there, he’s usually the only one to touch it, but even with the flour coating the floors and counters – and ceiling, Jesus fucking Christ, Ray – there’s still a serious amount missing. Which means there are pancakes hiding around the house, somewhere.

  


When it comes to cooking, Brad has long since learned that sometimes it’s safer to just not touch what Ray makes. It’s edible, sometimes, but he experiments too much and he likes sweet foods way more than Brad does. However, Ray makes the best pancakes in the universe and Brad is more than willing to sneak around to see if he can find Ray to steal some.

  


Only, Ray isn’t in the living room or the dining room. He’s suspiciously absent from the downstairs, garage and backyard included. Brad would check the upstairs, but just looking at the steps, he knows that Ray didn’t take the pancakes upstairs. Ray is downstairs with them, and Brad very much doubts Ray is eating them sitting on an exercise bike or a sparring mat.

  


Brad’s instinct is proven right when he trudges down the steps into the basement. There’s a smear of syrup on the handrail that Brad will have to yell at Ray for later but he isn’t surprised it exists in the first place. Brad’s just surprised that there isn’t a worse mess leading to the room in the basement where they’ve got Nate locked away.

  


When Brad opens the door, he’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting, but he isn’t exactly surprised, either. Ray’s sitting on the single bed, plate of pancakes in his lap, covered in butter and syrup and leaking over the edge onto Ray’s jeans and Nate’s blanket. Nate’s still in his corner, knees curled up into his chest. There’s a plate of pancakes in front of him, but they’re untouched.

  


” – and I’m telling you, homes. It’s bullshit. The Space Race was just invented so everyone would turn their attention away from the fact that the aliens are  _already here_. They thought, fuck, if we’re busy looking up – “ here, Ray pauses to point at the ceiling with his fork, and a thick dollop of syrup splats onto his jeans “ – fuck – “ Ray says, frowning at the mess, before shrugging and continuing, “ – then we won’t notice that they’ve already infiltrated the government and taken over.”

  


”Ray,” Brad says, leaning his hip against the doorjamb and folding his arms over his chest. “Leave the kid alone.”

  


Nate’s attention snaps to Brad immediately, eyes wide. The nervous and incredulous look fades into something startled, something closer to fear, but it’s gone in a second. Nate watches Brad through narrow eyes, carefully calculating him. “I’m not a kid,” Nate says after a moment, his voice hoarse from disuse. He licks his lips and looks away from Brad.

  


”Isn’t he adorable, Brad?” Ray asks, perking up. He picks up a second plate, loaded with more pancakes than either Nate’s or Ray’s has, and wiggles it for Brad to take. His eyes are bright, glassy, and Brad wants to ask if he’s seriously fucking high, but that’s an argument they can have away from Nate. “You know you want them,” Ray says, grinning. “Nate won’t touch his, ‘cause he thinks they’re poisoned or something. Fuck that. I wouldn’t poison my pancakes.”

  


Brad moves close enough to take the plate from Ray, but he just sets in gently down on the bed away from Ray, where he’s not likely to drop or spill it. He watches Ray shrug, turning his attention back to his own plate and eats messily for a moment. Brad looks away, disgusted, and isn’t surprised to see a similar grimace on Nate’s face.

  


”Eat,” Brad tells him, resting his hip against the footboard of the bed. “It’s all you’re getting until tonight.”

  


”And how long am I’m going to be stuck down here, exactly?” Nate asks. His eyes flicker to the door longingly, but it slipped shut and locked when Brad moved away from it. He eyes the number lock on the door, but Brad bets Nate already spent hours trying to think of the eight digit combination to open it.

  


For a moment, Brad just watches Nate, his expression impassive. Nate doesn’t break the gaze though, stares at Brad with fraught determination, and it would almost be impressive if his stomach didn’t choose that moment to gurgle at him. Brad smirks when Nate flushes, picking up his plate again and picking at the pancakes. “How much did you tell him, Ray?”

  


”Not much,” Ray says around a mouthful of pancakes. He swallows, wiping his face with the back of his hand and looks at Brad again. “Just that he’s going to be here for a few days while his daddy takes his time getting our money.”

  


There’s a look on Nate’s face again, fierce determination and a clenched jaw. He doesn’t have to say anything for Brad to know he doesn’t believe Ray’s words in the slightest. Ray ranting about the Space Race and alien invasions, coupled with the bright eyes and pancakes probably didn’t help Ray’s credibility any.

  


Brad takes a bite of a pancake, chewing it over slowly as he thinks. “You’re father took out a loan from the mob,” he says, licking the syrup from his lips. “Twenty-five thousand dollars. To cover gambling debts. Money that he owed to someone who worked for a friend of Godfather’s who didn’t appreciate being shorted.”

  


”My dad doesn’t gamble – “ Nate starts, but Brad silences him with a look. Nate clenches his jaw shut, but he doesn’t look away from Brad and he doesn’t back down.

  


”Godfather was very generous in offering your father an interest free loan.” Brad doesn’t take his eyes off of Nate, and doesn’t back down either, clenching his jaw tight. “He’s had five months to pay back his debts, but he’s still got a couple thousand to go. We’re just holding you here as incentive for your father to be quick about it.”

  


”And what happens if my dad can’t get the money?” Nate asks, his voice rougher around the edges than before. His steely expression wavers. He’s good at hiding his fear, but his eyes shine as soon as the question leaves his mouth. Nate’s a smart boy, he’s smart enough to realize what two mobsters will do with him now that they have him while his father struggles, taking too much time to pay them back.

  


Brad just picks at his pancakes again and takes another bite. He looks at Nate and doesn’t have to say  _You know the answer to that_  for Nate to make a small sound, not quite a whimper, but Nate doesn’t break. “You can relax. We have no intentions of actually hurting you unless your father fails and the job demands it.”

  


”I tried to tell him that,” Ray pitches in. “You know, cue my fucking awesome pancakes, but  _no_.” Ray shakes his head, scoffing. He looks back at Brad, a smile quirking the corner of his sticky lips. “Kid’s stubborn. Just like his daddy.”

  


”You’re an idiot,” Brad tells Ray, and it’s almost fond. “Come on. Nate’s not actually here for your entertainment, Ray, so take these plates and go back upstairs.” He lifts up his plate and hands it to Ray. “And don’t throw it out,” he adds with a glare.

  


Ray, the sticky mess that he is, accepts the plate and stands up anyways. “You know, I’m just glad we’re not going to have to foot his therapy bills when he gets out of here,” Ray says, shaking his head. “He’s going to starve himself, sitting alone in the dark basement of two mobsters for the next few days.”

  


”Ray…” Brad starts, shooting him an impatient look. “Go.”

  


”Fine, fine,” Ray huffs. He moves across the room easily, balancing both plates on one arm carefully while he punches in the room’s key code and slips out. “But if I can’t sexually harass him, than neither can you.”

  


For a fleeting moment, Nate looks like he wants to get up, to chase after Ray and escape through the door before it closes. He glances at Brad, eyes flicking up and down his body slowly, before he slumps back and bangs his head on the wall. He closes his eyes with the door snicks shut, the lock clicking.

  


For a while, they’re quiet. Nate eventually opens his eyes again, watching Brad carefully, suspiciously, and Brad doesn’t look away. Everything Nate is feeling is only obvious through his eyes, through the wet shine, and Brad is impressed with Nate’s ability to school his features. Nate would make a good politician one day, just like his father. One without gambling debts and ties to the mob, hopefully.

  


Brad doesn’t know what he’s looking for in Nate, what he’s hoping to find, but it’s not this. It’s not some scared little boy trying so hard to be brave, almost succeeding at it. He admires that Nate is determined to keep it together, despite everything falling apart around him. Brad hates that there’s anything to like about Nate at all. It’ll make killing him all the more hard when the time comes to it.

  


”Try that stunt with the cameras again and I’ll leave you here to rot,” Brad says, pushing off of the bed. He checks quickly to make sure he’s not got any wayward syrup clinging to him, before shooting Nate a look. “If you don’t want to eat, fine. I couldn’t care less if you starve yourself to death. You’ll get something for dinner in a few hours.”

  


Nate clenches his jaw, glowering at Brad, but he doesn’t say anything. He nods his head, once, quickly, before he stares at his kneecaps in stubborn silence. He doesn’t move or make another sound for as long as Brad is in the room.

  
\- - -  


Ray’s sitting at the small table in the kitchen when Brad comes looking for him, finishing up the last of his pancakes. He’s somehow managed to spill syrup all over the wooden table top and Brad bites his tongue. This is why he hates when Ray makes pancakes, even if they’re delicious as sin, because Ray is one seriously messy motherfucker.

  


”I didn’t eat them,” Ray says, nudging Brad’s plate across the table towards him invitingly. “Fuck, I didn’t even spit or jerk off in them. I was tempted, but I couldn’t risk ruining sheer perfection like this. Even if it would have been seriously fucking funny to watch you eat.”

  


”Shut up, Ray,” Brad says tiredly. He pulls the orange juice out of the fridge to pour himself a glass, and one for Ray as well, before he sits down across from Ray obligingly. He bites back his disgust as Ray chews openmouthed, washing it down with orange juice and focuses on his own pancakes instead.

  


Sitting in silence has never really been Ray’s forte, so it comes as no surprise when he shovels the last of his pancakes into his mouth, swallowing without chewing, and starts to talk again. “Okay, so, seriously? This Nate kid? Fucking sucks that we’re keeping him in the basement. And fuck you, I’m not going to sexually harass him, but I refuse to stop objectifying that pretty mouth of his. It’s made to smoke cock.”

  


Brad closes his eyes and makes an annoyed sound, chewing his food slowly in hopes it’ll ebb his anger away by the time he swallows. “Ray, we’ve talked about this – “

  


”I know, I know,” Ray huffs, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just. Fuck, homes. I can’t remember the last time I had sex with someone who isn’t  _you_. We’ve gone monogamous. What kind of messed up bullshit is that? We should be owning this town.”

  


”You’re sexually frustrated because you’re too lazy to go get your dick wet,” Brad says slowly, glancing up at Ray and watching him with a frown. He doesn’t ask if Ray objects to Brad sucking his cock or holding him down and fucking him, because the answer is obvious; Ray falls apart under Brad’s mouth and hands, always begging for  _more_  every single time. “I’m sure even you could find some drunk coed to go down on you. It’s Spring Break.”

  


”I know what drunk coed I want to go down on me,” Ray says wistfully. He takes another sip of his orange juice before wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “In all seriousness, though, homes. What are we going to do with him in the basement for the next few days?”

  


”Nothing,” Brad says. He drops his fork onto his plate and sends Ray a serious look. “You’re not going to bother him. He’s not here for your entertainment and I swear to God, if you get attached to him, I will shoot you both myself. Just because you’re fucking high – “

  


”I’m not  _that_  high – “ Ray starts.

  


Brad silences him with a look. “Ray. Just leave the kid alone. The more time you spend with him the harder it will be to do the job. He’s locked away in the basement for a reason. Just.” Brad pauses, rubbing at his face tiredly. “I don’t want to have to tell you how to do your job, Ray.”

  


”Then don’t,” Ray spits out vehemently. He stands up suddenly, his chair scraping back against the linoleum floor of the kitchen roughly. “I’m not an idiot, Brad. I can do my fucking job. I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own fucking home.”

  


”It’s hard to trust your judgment and ability to do your job when we’re one day into it and you’re  _high_ ,” Brad shoots back, sending Ray a dark look. He doesn’t point out that it’s his house and that Ray was an unwanted guest that refused to leave, even going so far as to claim a room for his own, but then again, Brad never tried very hard to kick him out, either.

  


Ray makes a frustrated sound. “I’m going to go to Hoosier’s for a few hours,” he says, glowering at his plate. “We’ve got shit to do. I’ll see you later.”

  


Brad bites his tongue to keep from pointing out what a goddamn mess the kitchen is and that Ray needs to clean it up. “Whatever,” he says instead, picking up his fork and picking at his pancakes. He doesn’t care what Ray does, one way or another, as long as he doesn’t get in trouble for it or Brad has to pick up the pieces.

  


Ray just watches Brad for a long moment, waiting for him to say or do something, but when Brad fails to respond between quirking an eyebrow he makes another frustrated noise and storms off in an angry huff, muttering under his breath. The words aren’t loud enough for Brad to hear properly, but he can get the gist enough to know his mother has just been insulted.

  


Suddenly, the desire to eat the pancakes in front of him vanishes. Brad picks at them for a few minutes, but by the time Ray slams out of the front door, Brad gives up on even trying. He glowers at them for a few moments before pushing them away. He’s got shit to get done today, and he might as well start with the kitchen.

  
\- - -  


Sometimes, Brad thinks living with Ray is very much akin to living with a thirteen year old girl. Ray never shuts up about anything, he doesn’t clean up after himself, he demands attention at all times but gets pissy when he doesn’t want it and he starts to PMS like a motherfucker. The only place Brad’s simile falls apart is the fact that sometimes he and Ray fuck (okay, more than sometimes, but he has needs and Ray is more than adequate to fulfill them) and Brad would kill himself before even entertaining the thought of touching a young girl.

  


Really, Brad deserves an award for this bullshit. It’s bad enough he’s got an innocent kid locked in his basement, he doesn’t need Ray pitching bitch fits all over the place as well. Brad is ready to shoot them both and be done with it already. Only, then Brad would more than likely be left footing the bill to Godfather and Brad doesn’t want to have to do that. Even if he could theoretically afford it.

  


At least Ray took Brad’s words about leaving Nate the fuck alone to heart. He only goes downstairs twice over the next two days to bring him dinner and breakfast. He smirks triumphantly when he comes back upstairs the first time, brandishing the empty plate like a trophy. “No one can resist my pancakes,” he says, dropping the plate in the sink.

  


For a moment, Brad thinks it means Ray and him are done fighting, but then Ray is turning on his heels as soon as he’s done to bang around in a different part of the house. It’s not that Brad’s upset that they’re fighting, he just thinks Ray is being stupid. He didn’t do anything to deserve Ray being such a little bitch to him.

  


Brad spends a lot of time in his office, watching Nate on his computer screen. Not that Nate does much besides stare aimlessly at the door trapping him in but he doesn’t try and cover the cameras again. Brad watches him think about it, when he takes advantage of the shower and changes – he doesn’t watch Nate shower, despite what Ray snarks about it. Brad just watches that moment where Nate holds his shirt in his hands, staring at it and then the camera.

  


After the second day of being locked up, Nate’s still holding himself together pretty well. When Brad takes him dinner on the second day, Nate’s eyes are red rimmed and his cheeks are splotchy, but he watches Brad with his jaw clenched and silent determination. Brad sets the plate down on the bed, on the blanket he’d snagged while Nate slept on the floor last night to wash. He lays a bottle of water down next to it.

  


Nate’s eyes are more focused on the book Brad has in his hand. He hesitates to take it when Brad holds it out, but the thought of spending the next few days in the same boredom as the last two has him inching closer until he can take it gingerly. “ _Good Omens_ ,” Nate says slowly, then looks up at Brad suspiciously. “Why are you doing this?”

  


”If you don’t want the book, you can give it back,” Brad says, narrowing his eyes. He isn’t surprised when Nate takes the book with him when he backpedals to his corner, keeping it close to his chest. Brad doesn’t bother to hide his smirk, but it’s short lived. “Just – shut up and read it.”

  


Nate watches Brad suspiciously for another moment, before looking down at the book in his hands. He lets his fingers skim across the cover slowly, tracing the words and art carefully with his fingertips. He doesn’t say  _thank you_ , but then again, Brad wasn’t expecting him to.

  


Instead, Nate asks, “Have you heard from my dad?” softly, his voice barely a whisper. He looks embarrassed the second he says the words, pointedly not making eye contact with Brad. He bites his lip and mouths a curse, closing his eyes and mentally berating himself for his moment of weakness.

  


Brad just watches Nate for another minute before leaving him, making sure the door clicks locked behind him. It’s easier than telling the kid that no, his father hasn’t called yet to say he has the money that’ll save his son’s life. He doesn’t want to be there when the kid breaks down and realizes he’s probably going to die in the small room with no hope for escaping or being rescued. It’s bad enough he’s going to have to pull the trigger.

  
\- - -  


Ray finds Brad on Friday morning on his back under the Escalade. He’s changing the oil and checking his break lines and any other thing he can think to do to it. Not because it needs done, per se, but because the maintenance is mind numbing in a good way. It gives him something to focus on besides the phone in his pocket that is steadfastly refusing to ring.

  


Ray watches for a while, before he crawls under the Escalade at Brad’s side. He doesn’t say anything when Brad makes grabby hands for a wrench, he hands it over and watches Brad work.

  


At first, Brad just ignores him. It’s surprisingly more difficult to ignore a quiet, sullen Ray than it is a loud, exuberant Ray and Brad’s still trying to work out the details on that one. Sighing heavily, Brad rests the wrench on his stomach and cocks his head to the side to look at Ray. “I can’t tell. Does this mean you’re done being pissed at me or not?”

  


There’s a soft snort and a small smile forms on Ray’s face. “You know that kid in the basement we’re not supposed to have anything to do with besides bringing food to? A little birdie told me you gave him a book to read. Care to deny it?” Ray asks, quirking an eyebrow.

  


Brad wants to curse, but there’s no point in denying he gave the book to Nate. He’s still not sure why he did it. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Something to keep Nate from trying to brain himself or go crazy and attack them or something like that. It’s one of those things that sounds better in his head, Brad is sure.

  


Ray just keeps smiling, squirming closer so he can press his face against Brad’s shoulder. He’s warm at Brad’s side, and Brad reaches a hand up to pat Ray’s face awkwardly. “We’re done fighting for now. It’s no fun when you don’t react, anyway.” Ray puts his hand over Brad’s, turning his face into their joined fingers to kiss Brad’s palm. “Besides, time is running out. This shits about to get serious.”

  


Sighing again, Brad starts to stroke his fingers along one of Ray’s eyebrows; it makes Ray snort in amusement, and Brad doesn’t stop. “He might die in two days and the only comfort he has is a battered copy of a book about the end of the world.”

  


”It could be worse,” Ray says. He tugs their hands away from his face, squeezing Brad’s fingers once before letting them go. “He could be sitting in a dark room somewhere with nothing to take his mind off of the fact he might be dying in two days.

  


Brad snorts derisively. “I don’t care,” he says after a moment, looking back up at the undercarriage of the Escalade. “It’s just a job. Sometimes innocent people have to suffer. This isn’t going to affect my ability to do my job. I’ll pull the trigger when it comes to it.”

  


Ray  _hmmm_ s thoughtfully. “I never doubted the Iceman’s ability to do his job,” Ray says, shaking his head and looking up at the undercarriage as well. “Sometimes I just – fuck – I know the Iceman knows his shit. But I’m worried about  _Brad_.”

  


”I’m fine, Ray,” Brad says tiredly. It doesn’t even feel like a lie, though he has no doubt that’s how Ray is going to take it. “I had a lapse in judgment. It won’t happen again. You can stop worrying now.”

  


”You’re kind of super fucking retarded when you want to be, you know that, right?” Ray asks, though he sounds nothing but fond. He elbows Brad in the side roughly, before pushing himself out from under the Escalade. “Also, you should make tacos for dinner.”

  


Brad’s about to tell Ray he can make his own goddamn tacos for dinner, but Ray has already banged his way out of the garage and back into the main house. Brad briefly fights down the urge to hit something or someone before brushing it aside. He picks his wrench back up and gets back to work.

  
\- - -  


”I was thinking,” Nate says slowly, watching Brad set a plate of tacos down on the bed. He inches forward, but he reaches out for the bottle of water Brad brought down instead of the food. For once, he doesn’t flee back into his corner after he gets what he wants.

  


”Careful,” Brad says, “or your head might explode.”

  


”Ha freaking ha,” Nate mutters bitterly. He reaches out when Brad turns to leave, but hesitates when it actually comes to grabbing Brad’s wrist. It’s his indecision, maybe, that gets Brad to stay, watching Nate out of the corner of his eyes. Or maybe it’s the steely determination on Nate’s face. “About my dad.”

  


Brad doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what to stay. He does turn to look at Nate proper though, and Nate refuses to back down under his hard glare. It’s increasingly obvious that he shouldn’t have given Nate the book, that he shouldn’t have let Ray down here at all to woo the boy into a false sense of security. Nate is too scared to touch Brad, but he isn’t scared enough.

  


For a second, Nate closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath. When he opens his eyes again, he looks exhausted. “My dad isn’t going to be able to get the money,” Nate says softly. “We both know it.”

  


”That’s none of my concern one way or another,” Brad replies easily. He looks away from Nate’s gaze, because there are too many conflicting emotions on his face and Brad could get lost in Nate’s eyes trying to figure them all out. It’s too dangerous. Brad stares up at the camera instead. “You’re smart enough to have figured out what’s going to happen if he can’t get your money.”

  


”If you’re going to kill me you can at least have the decency to look at me while I’m talking,” Nate spits out. The plastic water bottle in his hands crinkles when he starts to crush it, a frustrated sound escaping him.

  


”Watching you isn’t going to change my mind,” Brad says. “If it comes to it, I’ll – “ he means to say  _kill you_ , knows Nate is expecting to hear the words, but they won’t form on Brad’s lips. “ – finish the job.” Brad looks on Nate, showing him the Iceman indifference. “You can forget about begging your way out of this. You’ve been doing so good so far on not being a helpless little pest.”

  


”I have no intentions of begging,” Nate replies, his face determined again. “That’s not what I was going to say at all. I wanted – “ a second to breathe, to grit his teeth and remind himself he can do this “ – to make a deal.”

  


”Unless you’ve got twenty-five thousand dollars to spare on your father’s behalf, I can’t imagine you’d have anything I want,” Brad says.

  


”I don’t,” Nate agrees. He pauses long enough to drop his water bottle on the bed he hasn’t slept in, moving slowly to stand in front of Brad and block his exit. He waits until Brad narrows his eyes, watching him with fierce determination, before Nate starts to tug his shirt up and off slowly.

  


Something clenches in Brad’s gut and he gets the feeling he isn’t going to like where this is going at all. “Nate,” Brad warns.

  


”Take me,” Nate says seriously. He tosses his shirt to the side and drops his hands to the front of his jeans, toying with his belt. His eyes never leave Brad’s face and his steadfast determination doesn’t waver. “My father – he can’t afford to pay you back. So take what you owe from me. You or Ray, I don’t care. Both of you. Just take what he owes from me and leave my father alone.”

  


Nate has barely gotten the clasp of his belt undone before Brad is shoving him back against the wall. Brad moves quickly, before Nate can even register what’s going on, and he makes a startled sound when he collides with the wall and is pinned there. He stops trying to undo his belt, but he doesn’t fight the arm pressed against his chest, pinning him in place, or Brad’s hand pressing Nate’s face against the wall.

  


He’s scared, but he doesn’t let it show beyond a flash of pain and doubt in his eyes, and he schools his features quickly. “Do it,” Nate whispers.

  


It takes everything in Brad not to bang Nate’s head into the wall again. “You listen to me and you listen carefully,” Brad growls. He presses his fingers against Nate’s jaw and cheek hard, knows they’ll probably bruise by the morning. “Don’t you ever fucking make a deal like that again.”

  


Nate makes a small sound, somewhere between anger and exasperation. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. I’m going to die anyway.”

  


Brad makes a frustrated noise and presses harder against Nate’s chest. He’s surprised when Nate’s hands come up to grab Brad, but Nate doesn’t push him away, just holds on. Brad bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know what to say, not when Nate is trying so hard to be casual about the fact he’s probably going to die. He presses in harder and Nate gasps. “Shut the fuck up.”

  


Nate closes his eyes for a second, biting his tongue, but he doesn’t complain about Brad hurting him. He takes a minute to catch his breath, his breathing ragged, and he tightens his hold on Brad’s arms. “It’s not like I’m a virgin,” Nate breathes out, watching Brad’s face carefully. “But I’ll pretend, if you want. I’m awesome – “ a small grunt when Brad presses in harder still “ – at giving head.”

  


”There’s something seriously fucked up with you,” Brad says. He grabs Nate’s forearms, dragging him away from the wall and shoves him back towards the bed. Nate stumbles, but doesn’t fall, and he brings a hand up to rub at his face idly but he’s glowering again. “Pull a stunt like that again and I will kill you, debts paid or not.” He waits for Nate’s gaze to falter or crack, but Nate doesn’t do either. “Put your fucking shirt on and eat your dinner.”

  


”You’re making a mistake,” Nate says bitterly, dropping his hand from his face. He folds his arms over his pale chest, scowling. He doesn’t try to stop Brad from leaving this time and he doesn’t say anything else.

  


Brad leans against the door when it snicks shut, locked. He closes his eyes and lets out a bitter laugh, letting his head thump back against the door. He doesn’t know what he was expecting from this entire ordeal with Nate Fick, but this definitely wasn’t it. Brad is seriously ready for all of this to be over.

  
\- - -  


Brad knows he should tell Ray about the exchange with Nate, but for some reason, he can’t figure out how. It isn’t so much that he doesn’t want Ray to know and judge him, even though Ray is bound to see the bruises on Nate’s face when he inevitably makes his way down to the basement, but… Honestly, Brad isn’t sure why he doesn’t tell Ray.

  


All night, the words hang between them unspoken. Ray is completely oblivious, content to make a mess of himself and the kitchen while he eats his dinner. He relaxes back against Brad on the couch when they play  _Call of Duty_  after they eat and when it trickles into the wee hours of the morning and they’ve given up on gaming in favor of watching  _M*A*S*H_  reruns, Ray lets Brad take his wrist and drag him upstairs.

  


They don’t turn on the lights at all. There’s no point in it. Brad knows Ray’s body inside and out, whether he can see it or not. There’s nothing soft or sweet about what they’re doing, it’s nothing more than a release of pent up energy and frustrations. Brad focuses on that, that need for release and the sounds Ray is making, writhing underneath him and demanding  _more_  with every sharp shove of Brad’s hips.

  


For a few fleeting moments, Brad loses himself in this. In the tight, hot feeling of being surrounded by Ray. The salty taste of skin as Brad sucks a mark into Ray’s collarbone. He presses his fingers into Ray’s hipbones hard enough they’re likely to leave bruises come morning and he fucks into him relentlessly. He wants to know he has  _something_. He needs something to claim for his own, even if Ray is likely to disappear and sleep with someone else at any time.

  


It’s only when Brad comes with a shudder and a groan, biting back the name  _Nate_  does he know he’s seriously fucking screwed. He jerks back away from Ray like he’d been burned and it makes Ray cry out with needy frustration. Brad just sits back on his heels and stares at Ray in the dark, trying to calm the racing in his heart and wonder what the fuck just went wrong.

  


”Son of a bitch,” Ray spits at him. He makes another frustrated sound, followed by a bitten off groan. He starts jacking his own cock, arching his hips up into it. “The least you coulda done – “ Ray’s breath hitches followed by a broken moan “ – is help me finish here.”

  


”Sorry,” Brad mutters, shaking his head. He leans over Ray and takes ahold of him, brushing Ray’s own hand aside. He works Ray with quick strokes, pressing his nail down just under the head the way he knows Ray likes and then Ray is coming over Brad’s fingers and his own stomach with a strangled cry. Brad wipes his hand on Ray’s stomach, sitting back again.

  


For a moment, Ray just lays sprawled on his back with his thighs spread wide, trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t object when Brad gets off the bed to dispose of his condom and to grab a washcloth and he lies still when Brad runs it over Ray’s stomach and thighs slowly. It’s only when Brad disposes of that too and crawls back in bed does Ray roll over and look at him.

  


”What?” Brad asks, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t need to look to know Ray is watching him carefully and Brad brings a hand up to rub at his face tiredly. He lets the silence linger for a minute, waiting for Ray to either roll over and go to sleep or go away entirely, before giving up and looking over at Ray. “Ray.”

  


”You going to tell me what the fucks had a stick shoved up so far your ass all night?” Ray asks, propping himself up on an elbow almost casually. It’s hard to read his expression in the dark, even with all the training Brad’s had and the familiarity between them, but he knows Ray is seriously unimpressed with him right now.

  


Brad bites his tongue. He thinks about Nate locked in the basement and the offer Brad didn’t even need time to think about before he knew he was going to refuse. He touches a hand to Ray’s chest lightly, feeling the warmth of his sweaty skin and thinks about the fact it’s Nate’s name he was thinking about crying out. Nate that he wanted to hold down and use. There really isn’t any way to tell Ray any of those things without sounding like a goddamn hypocrite.

  


Still, Brad would have had to tell Ray soon or later. He might as well get it over with and out of the way now. Sighing heavily, Brad drops his hand away from Ray’s chest and back onto the mattress and looks back up on the ceiling. “Nate is being – “ there’s a word for this, but Brad can’t think of it off the top of his head “ – difficult.”

  


”I’m listening,” Ray says slowly. He scoots closer to Brad, probably more for warmth than anything, and his body is a comforting wall of heat at Brad’s side. Ray waits for Brad to roll onto his side to face Ray before Ray eases down off his elbow. “I seriously fucking doubt he figured out a way to try to escape or that he tried to jump you.”

  


”Those would be preferable,” Brad mutters. He reaches out to touch Ray’s hip, letting his fingers skim over the bone slowly, teasingly light. “He wanted to make a deal. He’s smart enough to realize that his father probably won’t be able to get the money to pay back his debts.”

  


”Okay,” Ray says, nodding slightly. He squirms when Brad continues to pet his hip, covering Brad’s hand with his own to stop him. “What exactly did he offer that’s been fucking with you so much tonight? His firstborn? His college savings? His virginity? Seriously, Brad.”

  


Brad bites his tongue and closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, he sends Ray a pointed look, one that Ray can apparently  _feel_ , even through the dark because the next second has Ray shutting up entirely and inhaling sharply. “Says he’s not a virgin. Jesus fucking Christ, I shoved him into a wall. I wanted to punch his face in for even offering it.”

  


”So the problem isn’t that he offered to let you fuck him,” Ray says slowly, reaching out to touch his fingers to Brad’s chest, moving deliberately slow as he makes his way to thumb at one of Brad’s nipples. “It’s that you  _want_  to fuck him.”

  


Brad goes tense for a second, shoving Ray’s hand away from him. “He’s a goddamn, terrified  _kid_ ,” Brad spits out. “He has no idea what the fuck he’s doing and he’s trying to spread his legs in the hopes that maybe we won’t kill him if he does.”

  


”Only, as you like to keep pointing out to me, Brad, Nate  _isn’t_  a kid,” Ray replies. “He’s twenty-three.” Pushing himself up onto an elbow again, Ray nudges at Brad’s hip until Brad rolls onto his back and Ray can straddle his waist, bracing himself with palms on Brad’s chest. “He thinks he’s going to die and he’s trying to save himself, save his father.”

  


”You can’t seriously be considering this,” Brad says, moving his hands to hold onto Ray’s hips and squeezing lightly. There are a million reasons why they  _can’t_  do this. One of which, and probably the most important, is they’re not goddamn rapists. They’re not those kind of mobsters. They aren’t. “Ray.”

  


”Think about it,” Ray says, shaking his head. He shifts slightly, squirming to get more comfortable, and it’s distracting. “If Nate’s father doesn’t get the money, we’re going to have to kill him. He’s offered an alternative. We’ll have to pay Godfather out of our own pockets.  _But_  - and here’s the part where this plan is sheer genius, thank you very much – if the Senator doesn’t know  _why_  we recanted our threats, he’ll think he still owes us.”

  


”What the fuck would we need the Senator to owe  _us_  a debt for?” Brad asks, pressing his fingers deep into Ray’s hips. He can see how Ray’s logic might make sense, but it doesn’t stop the hard feeling in his gut from telling him that this is a  _very bad idea_.

  


”That’s the beauty of it,” Ray grins. “We  _don’t_. But hey, maybe one day we do. What’s Nate going to do about it? Tell his father we conned him because the Fick name has already been cleared by him spreading his legs? I’d fucking love to be there for that conversation.”

  


Brad opens his mouth to complain, to argue, but Ray covers Brad’s lips with his hand and makes a  _shh_ ing sound.

  


”Brad. Stop thinking for five seconds and  _listen_  to me,” Ray says, shaking his head. “My plan is fool proof.” He doesn’t move the hand over Brad’s mouth but he uses the other to tease his fingers down Brad’s chest slowly. “There’s no point in denying either of us want him at this point.” Slowly, Ray moves his hand from Brad’s mouth and shifts back to sit on Brad’s thighs. He touches his fingertips to Brad’s dick, stroking down the length of it teasingly soft. “Just think about it.”

  


Brad doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about anything other than Ray’s hand on him, moving in a steady grip that’s enough to throw his breathing off again. “It’s a bad idea, Ray,” Brad groans out softly. “Too many things can go very, very wrong.”

  


Ray makes a soft, thoughtful noise and tightens his grip. “Like what?”

  


”He could change his mind,” Brad says, closing his eyes. He tries to arch his hips but Ray loosens his grip until Brad stops. “He could tell people we raped him. Syphilis.”

  


”All potentially valid arguments until you break them down,” Ray says easily. “One, I’ve never known you to keep going after you were told enough, no matter how into it you were.” Ray pats Brad’s hip with his free hand soothingly. “Two, he’s a pretty little Senator’s son and we’re big bad mobsters. People are going to assume we raped him whether we did or didn’t.”

  


”Let me guess,” Brad says slowly, “argument three is that he doesn’t have syphilis? You can’t possibly know that for sure.”

  


”I can and I do,” Ray says, grinning slyly. “Nate, good boy that he is, gets himself checked every few months. It’s in his records. Which, I’d like to point out, are way too easy to get ahold of as long as you know the right people. Really, I’m fucking embarrassed for the lack of security we put on such important, personal documents. The fuck kind of country is this? Canada?”

  


Brad stares. He arches his hips up into Ray’s hand when he tightens his grip, groaning softly. He closes his eyes and lets Ray have this moment. “For the record, you’re trying to convince me to take advantage of a kid we have locked in our basement. The same kid I’ve been harassing you about leaving the fuck alone. You have ulterior motives.”

  


”You’re the one who was thinking about fucking him ten minutes ago,” Ray shoots back. “Here I was, perfectly content to let you fuck me hard enough to bruise but  _I’m_  not even good enough for you anymore. You’ve gotta go and picture the cute little twink we’ve got locked away. My feelings are seriously fucking hurt, homes. When have I ever been subpar in bed? I’m affronted.”

  


”This isn’t a good idea, Ray,” Brad says. He grits his teeth, trying to arch his hips up again but Ray pushes him back down into the mattress. “We’re not going to molest the boy so just fucking drop it already – “

  


Ray stops stroking Brad, pulls his hand away to rest it on his own thigh. He ignores the frustrated sound Brad makes, knocking Brad’s hand away when he reaches for himself. “Listen, Brad. No one’s going to get hurt. Fuck, no one even has to know. Just. Think about it. We’ve got a few days before we’ve got to kill the kid. If his dad doesn’t come through with the money, isn’t this the better alternative?”

  


”I’ve never known you to choose not to fire your gun,” Brad says. He isn’t surprised when Ray grabs his wrists, pinning them to the mattress. Brad could toss Ray, if he really wanted to. He’s letting himself be pinned and he’s not even sure why he’s doing it.

  


”No,” Ray says agreeably, shrugging as best he can. “But I’m not the one who’s going to have to pull the trigger.” Ray lets go of Brad’s wrists slowly, inching up Brad’s thighs and easing down on top of him, his head pillowed on Brad’s chest. “I  _know_  you, Brad,” Ray whispers in the dark, sliding his hand between their bodies to reach for Brad again.

  


Brad sucks in a breath and bites his tongue. He wants to point out he can do this, he’s never failed at the job before. The fact Ray is worried he might is insulting. Ray knows Brad. He knows Brad will always do his job, no matter what. Ray  _knows_  Brad and that’s even more terrifying than the fact that Brad really wants to fuck Nate right now. Brad’s never let anyone get this close before and he doesn’t know what to do about it now that he has.

  


”It’s okay,” Ray says softly, kissing Brad’s chest. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. No one is holding a gun to your head. Just think about it.”

  


It’s not as difficult as it should be to bite back the urge to tell Ray where he can take his plan and shove it, but it’s hard to think when Ray’s hand is on him, moving with practiced ease.  _Just think about it_ , Ray said, like it was really that easy. Like any level and amount of time spent treading through the details will make it any better that he’s seriously considering taking advantage of the kid he has hostage in his basement.

  


Only, the thought of bending Nate over and fucking him until he screams, or having Nate on his knees swallowing Brad’s cock, they sound better than they should with each passing moment. Brad is relieved when Ray finally manages to drag another orgasm out of him with just lips on his skin and a hand, because it gives Brad a few moments where he doesn’t have to think about anything at all.

  
\- - -  


The idea won’t leave Brad alone. He gives up trying to sleep when he realizes he’s just going to see Nate when he closes his eyes, focusing instead on the warm way Ray is draped across his chest. It’s easy to lose track of time just listening to the steady rhythm of Ray’s breathing, stroking his fingers up and down the curve of Ray’s spine slowly.

  


Brad’s exhausted to his very core, and he gets the feeling this isn’t something that’s going to go away whether he gets any sleep or not. As long as Nate is in the basement, this is going to plague him. He thinks it should be easier to decide between killing the kid or fucking him, and he can’t even imagine what kind of choice this would be if he was in a normal line of work.

  


Brad kills people on a semi-regular basis. Killing people is easy. It’s when he has to have any other sort of interactions with them that Brad starts to get confused and things get complicated.

  


He wonders idly what it says about him that this is any sort of choice at all. Killing Nate is easy but messy. He still has to deal with the Senator though and if Nate does die, there’s always the chance that Christopher Fick will find some way to hunt them down and make them pay. Brad and Ray are good, the best, but they’re human. They make mistakes. It’d be just Brad’s luck that it’s when there is someone actively seeking revenge that he slips up.

  


Fucking Nate, though, that’s messy, too. It’s risky. Too many things could go wrong during and after the fact. He’d have to live up to his end of the bargain, cutting Nate free and consider the Senator’s debt paid. Brad would have to pay Godfather out of his own pocket and hope Godfather never finds out about it. It’s sex though. Brad does just fine in the sex department without resorting to screwing over hostages, but Ray had a point when he said he couldn’t remember the last time he fucked someone who wasn’t Brad. Brad can’t remember fucking someone who wasn’t Ray, either.

  


It should be obvious, this solution. He should just accept Nate’s deal and get it over with. It’ll be nice to have someone who isn’t Ray, just for a little while. To feel Nate tight and hot around him, hear the soft sounds he makes when he’s used, so impossibly obscene as he moans and begs.

  


Nate’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve to die. He’s got a bright future ahead of him, no matter what he decides to do. Brad’s read his records, has done the surveillance and research. He knows how stubborn and intelligent and witty and determined Nate is. Wherever Nate goes, he’s going to benefit people, will probably be better at it then his father.

  


Somehow though, somehow, even as Brad can feel the dawn start to break and light start to pour in through the slates of his blinds, he can’t quite make the conscious decision that yes, he’s going to do this. He and Ray are going to fuck Nate and forgive his father’s debts.

  


Brad’s probably more screwed up than he cares to admit.


	4. Brad

The day drags on and Brad’s exhausted in a way he shouldn’t be. He’s been trained to stay awake for days on end with little to no sleep but he can barely keep his eyes open, can feel the weariness down to the core of his being. He wants to crawl back in bed and sleep, but he knows it wouldn’t do any good, not while they still have Nate.

  


Ray is unusually quiet throughout the day, only really talking to Brad when he asks if he wants cereal or Eggos, and what should they feed Nate? He makes a breakfast that Brad doesn’t eat and Ray bites his tongue for once. When Ray goes to take a plate of food down to Nate, he squeezes the back of Brad’s neck lightly, disappearing deeper into the house.

  


As the sound of Ray’s footsteps fade, Brad pushes his plate away from him and slumps against the table. He thinks he should eat, but he’s too tired to really feel hungry. There are things he should be doing today, important things like double and triple checking there is a place to dispose of Nate’s body if it comes to it and he needs to get with Ack Ack or Hillbilly to see if he can get a sawed off that’s not a piece of shit.

  


Knowing all of these things though doesn’t exactly inspire Brad to get up off the table and go do them though. Not when they all seem like so much effort when he has a laptop and an office and he can spend his time doing nothing in. There’s no real work that needs to be done, but it beats sitting at the table and waiting around for Ray to entertain him, so Brad takes one last bite of his waffles before pushing away from the table.

  


It’s when Brad’s been staring at his screen for an hour, trying to think of something to look up that he realizes any sort of focus today is basically a lost cause. He should just go ahead and get real work done, since idle time is wasted. Brad trusts Ray to keep an eye on Nate without molesting him any.

  


Nate isn’t the only one Brad is worried about, even though he shouldn’t be. It should be easy to banish Nate to the back of his mind and work, but it isn’t. Even with the window with the basement footage minimized, Brad has a hard time looking away from the video of Nate curled up in his corner, thumbing through his borrowed copy of  _Good Omens_  for the umpteenth time. Brad steadfastly refuses to turn on the volume or maximize the screen, but it doesn’t stop him from wondering if Nate is bruised from yesterday.

  


The sudden ringing of Brad’s phone is a welcome distraction.

  


There’s one moment, a long, tense set of heartbeats where Brad thinks  _finally_ , because he’s ready for this to be over. It’s not his work phone though, it’s his personal one, but Brad still pulls it out to check who’s calling him anyway. Slumping back in his computer chair and wiping a hand over his face, Brad tosses his phone onto the desk and lets it ring.

  


It only takes a few seconds after his phone stops ringing for it to ping again, signaling a text message. Brad lets it sit for a minute before leaning forward to grab it.

  


 

> From: Snafu  
> meet me @ mathilda. 1330.  
> Mar 27, 12:14 pm

 

  


Brad briefly considers ignoring it. Things are shit enough right now without adding Snafu’s issues to the mix, but it’s either help Snafu out or mope – not that Brad is moping, that’s just what Ray will say – and the former does sound better than the latter.

  


Ray isn’t to be found when Brad makes his way downstairs, and his truck is absent from the garage. It’s not that uncommon for Ray to take off without telling Brad where he’s going and Brad would bet his Aston Martin that he’s with Hoosier (and more than likely pissing Leckie off) right now. It’s none of Brad’s business what Ray chooses to do most of the time. It does explain why the house has been so quiet though.

  


Rubbing a hand over his face slowly, Brad makes a small, exhausted sound before he grabs the keys to his shiny black Ducati. He stops long enough to tug the zipper up on his jacket and fire Snafu a  _omw_  text before he pulls on his helmet and peels out of the garage.

  


For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Brad can forget about Nate and the Senator and everything else and lose himself in the familiar, comforting hum from his Ducati and the rush of speeding through traffic.

  
\- - -  


Mathilda’s is one of those places that doesn’t look like much on the outside, but it’s nice enough. It’s got clean windows and the brick front isn’t as out of sorts as some of the places in town. The inside is pretty clean cut too, thanks to the touch of Wright’s fiancé. Really, if it wasn’t for the fact the place is almost always crawling with Godfather’s men, it would almost be a respectful bar and grill.

  


It isn’t though, but the food is more than passable and thanks to Godfather’s helping hand Wright can get his hands on the kinds of liquor that aren’t exactly legal stateside. Wright is clean though, as far as a bar owner who works with Godfather can be, and Mathilda’s is nice.

  


Brad finds Snafu huddled in a corner booth with Sledge, leaning in in what would be considered awkwardly close if it was anyone else. He’s got one hand covering Sledge’s on the checkered tablecloth, and their heads are ducked together as they talk. It’s not exactly an uncommon scene for the two of them, but it takes a minute for the  _wrong_  feeling to go away and Brad to realize what was bothering him about it in the first place.

  


Biting back a comment about Snafu finally brainwashing Sledge, Brad raps his knuckles against the table lightly before sliding onto the bench across from them. It’s no surprise when Snafu doesn’t even blink, but Sledge’s eyes snap up, wide, before he flashes Brad a tired smile. “Is it even vaguely important for me to be here?”

  


A lazy smirk crosses Snafu’s face – because he isn’t the type of guy to just  _smile_ , like everyone else – and he lifts Sledge’s hand to kiss the back of his fingers. “Word is you’ve got a rough job and can use a break,” he says, shrugging easily. “Thought I’d invite you to the celebration.”

  


”You mean, you wanted an excuse to make me pay for your food again,” Brad says, narrowing his eyes. He ignores Snafu’s smirk and looks at Sledge. “I thought you had more sense than this. Clearly, Pappy and Rudy have failed you. The fact they haven’t killed him – “ Brad cocks his head in Snafu’s direction “ – yet astounds me.”

  


”They don’t know yet,” Sledge says, looking sheepish. He tugs his fingers free from Snafu’s to grab his iced tea, sipping at it slowly. “We heard from Hoosier you guys have a rough job. Says Ray’s not thinking so much of it right now.”

  


Clearly, Brad was in the right to assume Ray had run off with Hoosier then. He waves down one of the pretty blonde waitresses working Mathilda’s, asks for a Coke without even looking at her. He watches Sledge smile at her sweetly before she turns around to fetch Brad’s drink, sipping from his own iced tea again. “The job is nothing.”

  


”Which is why you’re here and Ray is off with Hoosier pissin’ off Leckie again,” Snafu says, nodding his head solemnly. “Makes perfect sense.”

  


”Fuck you, too,” Brad says tiredly. He leans back against the red vinyl back of the bench, folding his arms over his chest. He thinks about picking up the menu and flipping through it, but he already has it memorized and he’s not really that hungry. “So.” Brad doesn’t even have to finish his sentence, just looks pointedly between the two of them. “Not that I care.”

  


”You said my plans weren’t ever going to work,” Snafu says, and there is a smug little grin on his face. “It took a while, but I got my cher eventually.”

  


The tips of Sledge’s ears go a pretty shade of pink and he ducks his head to hide the smile on his face. “ _Eventually_ ,” Sledge agrees. He leans into Snafu’s body slightly, sharing a shy smile with him before he looks at Brad. “But in my defense I didn’t even know what he was trying to do.”

  


”You were the only person in the entire universe who didn’t know,” Brad says, scoffing. He shakes his head, biting his tongue as the waitress reappears and places his Coke in front of him.

  


”Can I get you anything to eat?” She asks, pulling a notepad out of the apron wrapped through her belt loops. The pen she has is purple and sparkly and Brad wants to kill himself with it.

  


”I’ll have the brisket,” Sledge says, smiling sweetly again. “With corn on the cob and baked beans.”

  


Snafu’s eyes narrow when the waitress smiles back at Sledge, canting her hip to the side slightly as she jots down Sledge’s order on her notepad. “Ribs. Corn. Coleslaw.”

  


”Same,” Brad says when she looks at him, and she purses her lips. She leaves after jotting her notes down and Brad smiles wryly at Snafu. “You do know you can’t actually kill anyone by just looking at them, right? I know you’ve been trying for years but – “

  


”If her jeans hung any lower she’d need a hairnet,” Snafu shoots back bitterly – and it’s at this moment Sledge chooses to take a sip of his iced tea and ends up sputtering it all over himself and the table. “And she’s been making eyes at my cher all day.”

  


”Snafu!” Sledge says, mortified. He snags a handful of napkins and wipes himself off, ignoring the concerned look Snafu is giving him before he starts to pat the table dry as well. Exasperated, Sledge continues, “We don’t need to have the  _appropriate eating time conversations_  talk again, do we?”

  


”But I – “ Snafu starts, but he’s silenced by the look Sledge gives him. Snafu blinks, confused, before looking over at Brad. There’s something petulant about his expression, something that makes Brad smile wryly, but Snafu leans into Sledge again and kisses the spot just under his ear. “Shh,” he says and he’s still smiling when Sledge pushes him away and blushes.

  


”I think I’m going to be sick,” Brad deadpans.

  


Snafu’s leg kicks Brad under the table, but it’s a light touch, hardly enough to even really be more than a low thud of pain. He doesn’t move away from where he’s half turned into Sledge, but he does straighten up to look over at Brad. “You can’t fight true love.”

  


”Once again,” Brad says, “I think I’m going to throw up and I haven’t even eaten anything yet.”

  


”Just ignore him,” Sledge says. He keeps his hands in his lap and shoots Snafu a suspicious look when Snafu’s hands disappear under the table, too. When Snafu starts to look a little heartbroken, Sledge rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just.” Sledge shakes his head. “How’s Ray?”

  


Brad quirks an eyebrow, but Sledge isn’t the least bit intimidated by Brad’s blank expression. Clearly, he’s been spending too much time around Snafu if the intimidation tactics aren’t working on him. “He’s Ray,” Brad says, like that’s any sort of an answer.

  


”Fair enough,” Sledge says, a small grin on his face. He reaches for his iced tea, fidgeting with his straw and smiling brighter when Brad narrows his eyes in suspicion. “This job, though. Hoosier didn’t really say much other than Ray said it was making you a bitch.”

  


”I will never fail to be amazed by everyone’s ability and need to gossip,” Brad says. He reaches for his own Coke, shaking his head. “A bunch of grown ass men and we all gather together like school girls at the first hint of news.”

  


”That ain’t fair,” Snafu says, shaking his head. “You know damn well that Godfather’s had us all on hold since that incident on the docks. He’s trying to regroup and sort out this clusterfuck. You’re one of the only teams with a job right now. It ain’t nice to not share the details when everyone else is hung out right now.”

  


Brad gives Snafu an exasperated look and try as he might, even Sledge can’t hide the slightly eager expression on his face, either. “Twelve year old girls. The lot of you.”

  


”Brad,” Snafu says, narrowing his eyes slightly before he just stares.

  


The effect is lost on Brad, has never really worked on him since the very beginning of their friendship and even before that, but Brad sighs and rolls his eyes. He glances around surreptitiously before leaning forward and dropping his voice. “It’s none of your business.”

  


”Dick,” Snafu says, lashing his leg out to kick Brad again. It’s harder this time, the toe of his boot smacking Brad’s shin roughly, and Brad kicks Snafu right back. “Fucker!”

  


”Guys,” Sledge says, exasperated. He looks at them both with a look of mild indignation before he shakes his head and takes another sip from his drink. “All we wanted was the bare bones. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

  


”The subject matter isn’t really  _appropriate eating time conversation_ ,” Brad says, using Sledge’s words slowly. If Sledge is insulted, it doesn’t show on his face, and he nods his head at Brad’s words. “It’s just a job.”

  


Snafu nods his head. “Later, then,” he says, and Brad would object, but he’s long since learned to just let Snafu think he has these small victories.

  
\- - -  


Brad waits with Snafu outside of Mathilda’s while Sledge disappears into the back to have a quick word with Wright – about what, Brad isn’t sure, but Sledge smiles brightly and tells them he’ll only be a second. Brad leans back against the brick wall of the bar and grill and accepts a cigarette when Snafu passes him one. “You take him back to your place and make him a man yet?”

  


There’s a lazy grin on Snafu’s face as he lights up his own smoke before he passes Brad the lighter. “N’ah.” He doesn’t explain right away, wrapping his lips lazily around his cigarette before he leans against the wall at Brad’s side, their elbows knocking. “He ain’t too fond of the neighborhood I was livin’ in. Made me pack my bags and move in with him. It’s not so bad. Won’t spread his legs, though.”

  


”You two moved in together?” Brad asks, glancing down at Snafu and frowning. He lights his smoke before passing the purple Bic back, but he doesn’t bring the cigarette to his lips. “You made out once, less than twenty four hours ago and you’ve already moved in together?”

  


”You can’t fight true love,” Snafu drawls. He stares out at the street through half-lidded eyes, the corners of his lips tilted up in a smirk. “Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

  


”If that’s how you’re going to explain it to his parents, you might want to work on your sincerity,” Brad says. He rolls his eyes when Snafu just gives him a confused look and takes a drag from his smoke. “I’m just saying.”

  


”You need to have more faith,” Snafu says. He bumps his elbow against Brad’s, catching his attention, before he looks back out over the busy street. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you about this job, now?”

  


Brad takes a minute to consider it, toying with the end of his cigarette before flicking away the ashes. “It was a snatch and grab. We’re holding a kid while his father scrambles to put together money to pay Godfather back.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes and letting his head thump against the brick wall. “Money he doesn’t have.”

  


”Shouldn’t have borrowed money from Godfather,” Snafu says, like it’s that simple. Then again, to him, it might just be.

  


”He’s twenty three,” Brad adds, though he isn’t entirely sure why the detail seems so important. “He’s smart enough to have figured out that he’s probably going to die in a day or two. He’s scared, but he – “ Brad pauses, because he doesn’t know how to explain Nate’s unwavering, steely determination “ – doesn’t want to die.”

  


Snafu just looks at Brad, his brow furrowing slightly. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the entire story.”

  


”Why do you think I want your help in the first place?” Brad shoots back, scowling.

  


”You bought lunch, I think I’m obligated to help,” Snafu replies, shrugging weakly. He flicks the ashes from the end of his smoke, taking one last drag from it before he drops it to the cement and crushes it under his heel. “So stop being a pussy and talk already.”

  


”Yes, because your overwhelming kindness inspires me to share,” Brad says wryly. He watches the slow burn of his cigarette instead of looking at Snafu and he has to resist the urge to press it into his skin. Anything would be a welcome distraction right now. “What’s taking your boyfriend so damn long?”

  


”Sledge lied about needing to talk to Wright,” Snafu replies and Brad has to bite back a bitter remark. “He’s only inside so you’ll stop avoiding the subject and talk.”

  


Brad glances over at Snafu and scowls at him. ”I hate you both,” Brad tells Snafu, but it’s without any real heat. He takes one last puff of his cigarette and lets it fall to the cement. “The kid offered up an alternative. Wanted to spread his legs to pay back the money his father owes Godfather.”

  


”Is he pretty enough to be worth the money his father owes Godfather?” Snafu asks.

  


Brad snorts softly, because even  _fuck yes_  doesn’t begin to cover it. He wipes a hand over his face and slumps back against the brick. “Yeah,” he says tiredly when Snafu just continues to look at him. “He’s more than pretty enough to make up for what Godfather is owed.”

  


”So fuck him,” Snafu replies.

  


”It’s not that simple,” Brad says, shaking his head and sighing.

  


”And why isn’t it?” Snafu asks, pursing his lips and frowning at Brad.

  


”I’m not a rapist, for starters,” Brad mutters bitterly. He ignores the look Snafu is giving him and holds a hand up to shut him up when Snafu opens his mouth. “I’ve been over this with Ray already. I’m not going over it again.”

  


”Okay,” Snafu says slowly. “Does Ray want to fuck him?”

  


”If by  _fuck_  you mean  _hold him down and do absolutely deplorable things_  to him, then yes,” Brad replies. He knows Ray well enough by now to know exactly how Ray likes to get his rocks off. Brad won’t let Ray use him in the same way Ray uses the boys and girls he brings home but Brad has watched and participated often enough to know what does it for Ray.

  


”So let Ray fuck him,” Snafu says, shrugging slightly. “You don’t even have to watch and you still get to be morally superior to the rest of us and the kid lives.”

  


”What?” Brad says, blinking slowly and looking at Snafu.

  


Snafu just stares right back at him. “You’re only lookin’ at me like that because you know my plan is flawless.”

  


”Snafu, none of your plans are or ever will be flawless,” Brad scowls. “The fact that any of them worked well enough for you to ensnare Sledge into your corrupt little life will always be a miracle, an outlier to the grand scheme of things.”

  


”You’re just being negative because you’re too much of a pussy to get your dick wet,” Snafu says. “At least this way you don’t have to be hung up over killing some kid.”

  


Brad absolutely hates when Snafu’s plans ever have any merit. He can’t take advice from a guy who watched  _Jerry Springer_  and Lifetime original movies to woo Sledge into his bed – or maybe not his  _bed_ , if Sledge isn’t spreading his legs for Snafu just yet, but the point is the same.

  


”Or you could just kill him and pretend like everything is a-okay again,” Snafu continues, nodding. “Ray will run away to go mope and watch porn with Hoosier and piss Leckie the fuck off, and you and I get kicked out of Mathilda’s every other night drunk off our asses on vodka. I don’t know how Sledge’ll feel about that plan, but I got your six.”

  


A thin smile crosses Brad’s face when Snafu elbows him lightly and he thumps his head back against the brick lightly. He thinks about Ray’s almost innocent question of  _Do you ever think you’re in the wrong line of work?_  and wonders what could have possibly changed in the past week to make him not want to do this job so badly. He will, if he has to, but Brad doesn’t get off on killing people, not like some of the men he’s worked with do.

  


”So you’re saying I should just let Ray fuck him,” Brad says slowly, thinking it over. “I should let Ray use the damn kid until he’s spent and then consider the debt paid.” It still sits heavy in Brad’s gut, something to file under things he never wants to do, but Ray doesn’t have the same issues Brad does with this. Maybe it could work.

  


Maybe everything will be okay and in a few days Brad can go back to being the Iceman and everything will go back to how it was before.

  


”Just a suggestion,” Snafu replies easily, shrugging again. His fingers fidget with his Bic, clicking it on again and again and he watches the flame with a lazy smirk on his face. “No one gets hurt this way.”

  


”No one but Nate,” Brad says, shaking his head slightly.

  


Snafu pauses in clicking his lighter on, glancing at Brad and frowning slightly. He’s smart enough to keep up with the conversation, to make the  _Nate_  equals  _boy Brad and Ray have locked in their basement_  connection, of that Brad has no doubts. “It’s better for him than the alternative.”

  


”Maybe,” Brad sighs, but it doesn’t really feel like an agreement. Wiping at his face tiredly, Brad makes a frustrated sound. Glancing at Snafu, Brad asks, “do you think Sledge will be okay with getting drunk off our asses barely after two or should we sneak off to a bar?”

  


”We’ll have to buy vodka,” Snafu says slowly, thoughtfully, “But surely mental health counts as a good enough reason to drink before happy hour.”

  


Brad doesn’t see how that argument could hold any water at all, but he sure as fuck isn’t going to turn it down. “You fetch Sledge, I fetch vodka?” Brad asks.

  


”After you, Iceman,” Snafu replies, a lazy grin filtering onto his face, and Brad knew he liked Snafu the most for a reason.

  
\- - -  


Sledge, it turns out, does mind that Brad and Snafu plan to spend the afternoon getting drunk and watching gory movies on his couch. He bites his tongue though, shaking his head and tells them he’s going to go out with Rudy and he’ll call in a few hours to check in on them and make sure they aren’t dead.

  


Brad is kind of insulted at the implication he would drink himself to death, or that Snafu could kill him, but he’d rather be in Sledge’s neat little apartment than at home, so he bites his tongue. Even though it does occur to him that leaving Nate alone at the house for long periods of time might not actually be a good idea. In Brad’s defense though, it’s not like he’s going to kill Nate anymore so if Nate kills himself, it’s his own damn fault.

  


Snafu agrees readily enough when Brad mentions it, making grabby hands for the bottle of vodka. He makes a triumphant sound when Brad passes it to him, filling the small, stripy blue cup he’d pilfered from Sledge’s cabinet almost to the rim before he passes the bottle back to Brad.

  


Really, there is nothing Brad would love more than to spend the entire afternoon splayed across the overstuffed couch with Snafu watching people be graphically dismembered on Sledge’s shitty little TV. After the first movie, Brad stops filling his own stripy cup and just kicks back and watches the movie instead, though. He has to be able to drive his Ducati home without wrecking it or killing himself, after all.

  


Ray would be seriously unhappy with Brad if Brad accidentally killed himself. Almost as unhappy as Brad would be if he wrecked his Ducati. Brad’s sure this says something about their relationship, or his love for his bike, but his brain is too fuzzy and warm for him to make the connection right now.

  


Time passes easily enough like this, Brad and Snafu doing absolutely nothing and beyond mocking bad special effects and the fake looks to the blood and unrealistic blood splatters. It’s easy between them and Brad is glad he has Snafu to do this with, even if Snafu is kind of a psycho sometimes. What they have is good, free from the bullshit Brad would get if he tried to turn to anyone else.

  


Not that Brad needs or needed help. He just needed a sounding board, if he needed anything at all, and Snafu is good at that. Even if sometimes his plans do tend to be a little less than flawless in theory or practice.

  


It isn’t until Sledge calls, asking if they want take out before he comes home that Brad puts forth the effort to push himself off of the couch and stretch. He ignores the way Snafu is watching him, phone clutched in his hand against his ear. “Thanks,” he says, stretching his arms up lazily, “but I’ve got shit to do.”

  


”Brad says he’s going,” Snafu says into the phone. He toys with the hem of his shirt idly, teasing his finger through a hole in the seam. “I don’t care what you get, just bring me back food. Lots of food.” Snafu pauses, then looks up at Brad. “You gonna take the last of your vodka?”

  


”Keep it,” Brad says, shaking his head. “I’ve got more at home. Consider it the last nice thing I’ve ever going to do for you, though.”

  


Snafu snorts softly and he looks at Brad like he’s delusional. Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by the tinny sound of Sledge over his cellphone’s speakers, and he makes a soft  _hmm_ ing sound as he listens to Sledge talk. He waves vaguely at Brad and it’s as good a goodbye as any, so Brad has no qualms in just taking his leave.

  
\- - -  


It doesn’t take nearly as long for Brad to get home as he wishes it would. Night is falling and the wind that buffets his body is cold. It wakes Brad up, chases the last of the vodka haze away. He knows this city’s streets like he knows the back of his hand, and no matter how hard he tries to focus on that, to lose himself in the details, that kind of relief won’t come to him.

  


Ray’s pickup truck is in its usual spot in the garage when Brad finally rolls back in, parked haphazardly. He’s home then, somewhere, and Brad’s only hope is that he’s alone and that Hoosier didn’t tag along with him.

  


It was hard enough to come to this decision as is. Brad doesn’t want time convince him it’s a very bad idea and forget all about it. They can’t afford for Brad to back out now –  _Nate_  can’t afford for Brad to change his mind on this.

  


He’s lucky then, that Ray is sitting alone at the kitchen table eating Chinese takeout. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when Brad comes into the kitchen, but he pushes a carton in Brad’s direction and says, “I was wondering if you were ever going to come home.”

  


”Had to think,” Brad says, shrugging off his leather coat and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. He grabs the sweet and sour chicken Ray pushed towards him and sits down at Ray’s side, stabbing at the chicken with a fork. It doesn’t make him feel better and yet somehow, it does.

  


Ray makes a thoughtful sound, tapping at his keyboard quickly before shutting the lid to his laptop. He looks at Brad, his expression guarded. “And what exactly did you need to spend all day thinking about?”

  


”It wasn’t all day,” Brad huffs, but it’s kind of a lie. He takes a bite of his food, more to give himself a chance to breathe, to think, before he answers than anything else. “I needed to think about Nate’s… deal.”

  


”Really?” Ray asks, blinking in surprise. He pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth and just stares at Brad for a second. He narrows his eyes. “And what exactly did you decide to do? Are you going to take him up on his offer to spread his legs?”

  


Brad shakes his head, “No.” He holds up his fork to silence Ray when Ray opens his mouth. Brad takes another bite from his food before putting the takeout container on the table and stabbing his fork back inside of it. “No,” Brad says again, looking at Ray. “I’m not. But you are.”

  


Ray’s eyes narrow again, his mouth forming a hard line, even through his confusion. “Okay,” he says slowly, watching Brad suspiciously. He puts his own food down and leans toward Brad. “And you can’t because…?”

  


”We’ve been over this, Ray,” Brad says. He sighs, leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Ray’s face and waits for the flicker of understanding to cross it. “I  _can’t_ ,” Brad continues, and he has to bite his tongue to fight back the relief when Ray nods, face softening.

  


”I’ll take care of him,” Ray says, leaning back again. He grabs his food, stabbing his fork back into the chicken and takes a bite. He swallows and grins, winking at Brad. “Don’t worry about it. Nate’ll be fine in my expert hands and everyone gets to go home in one, lovely piece.”

  


Brad snorts his disbelief, and Ray just grins wider. He grabs his own food again to take another bite, only pausing for a second when he feels Ray’s bare toes poke up under the leg of his jeans, searching for skin. Brad rolls his eyes at Ray, but he doesn’t shove him away.

  


“This will all be over soon,” Brad says, because the silence is stretching on and he can only tolerate so much of Ray’s quiet understanding. “Do you still want to go to Rio?”

  


Ray’s face brightens up almost immediately. “Seriously? Has this case worked you up this badly that you’re willing to take me to Rio to work out your frustrations? Or do you just want to make an honest man out of me, Brad? I always figured we’d end up drunk in Las Vegas when you popped the question, so I gotta be honest – “

  


”Ray,” Brad says, cutting him off mid-tirade. He has to resist the urge to rub at his temples in irritation. “Just shut up and eat your goddamn dinner.” Brad doesn’t choke when Ray bats his eyelashes and responds with a mock-sultry  _anything you want, Pookie_ , but it’s kind of a close thing.

  
\- - -  


Nate is laying on the floor when Brad finally makes his way down to the basement, pillow under his head and hands resting on his stomach. His eyes are closed and his knees are drawn up, and he looks impossibly peaceful given the situation he’s in. Nate doesn’t get up when he hears the door open, but he turns his head to look over at Brad all the same.

  


There are pale bruises along Nate’s jaw, and Brad tries not to stare at them. He wipes a hand over his face slowly, trying to think of how to word himself. “Nate,” Brad starts, waiting for the younger boy to sit up and look at him proper before he continues. “You made an offer.”

  


”You’re going to take me up on it, then?” Nate asks. His fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, but he doesn’t tug it up and off like he did the last time Brad was down here. He watches Brad warily, biting at his lower lip.

  


”No,” Brad says, “I’m not.”

  


Nate doesn’t give Brad time to elaborate before he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. His jaw trembles before he manages to clench it and his fingers tighten in his shirt. “So you’re going to kill me, then.”

  


”I didn’t say that,” Brad says. He ignores the disbelieving look on Nate’s face, watching with wry amusement as Nate inches back towards his corner as Brad crosses the room to sit on the bed. He lets his head hang for a second while he sucks in a breath, before looking at Nate again. “This is only going to happen if you’re absolutely sure. If you say  _yes_  now, there’s no coming back.”

  


It’s a lie, but Nate doesn’t need to know that. If Nate begged them to stop, begged for Ray to stop, Ray would. Just because Ray’s morals are looser than Brad’s, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Brad doesn’t doubt any of this. He’s known and trusted Ray far too long to believe otherwise.

  


”I don’t understand,” Nate says slowly. He doesn’t relax, not really. His eyes shine, wet, but he doesn’t look away from Brad’s face and his expression is determined. “If you’re not going to – “ A pause, a soft inhale. Nate blinks slowly as realization kicks in, and he looks at the door. “Ray.”

  


”Ray,” Brad confirms. He isn’t sure what he expects to see on Nate’s face, but the calm understanding doesn’t surprise him. He looks away when Nate wipes at his eyes and nose, staring up at the security camera. “If you’re sure – “

  


”I’m sure,” Nate says, determined. He stops fidgeting, resting his hands on his lap when he looks up at Brad again. “Are you going to – “ A pause again and Nate swallows, “ – watch?”

  


Brad shakes his head, “I’ll go,” he says.

  


”Stay,” Nate says firmly. He’s clenching his jaw again, a determined look on his face. “Unless you don’t like – “

  


Brad snorts derisively and bites his tongue. “You want me to stay and watch Ray use you?” He asks, looking over at Nate again, really looking at him. The bruises on his face are dull and Brad can’t even pretend to deny he doesn’t want to watch Ray press more into Nate’s skin. As much as Brad hates to admit it, even to himself, he wants to know what Nate looks like when he finally breaks.

  


”I’ll make it good for you,” Nate says, and maybe he’s going for sultry and encouraging but really, he just sounds tired. Not that Brad can blame him. He stretches his arms over his head slowly, groaning, and Brad doesn’t bother to hide the fact he’s starting at the smooth skin on Nate’s stomach where his shirt hitches up.

  


Brad’s about to open his mouth to tell Nate to knock it off, it isn’t going to work, when the door the small room opens and Ray rests his hip against the jamb. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at Brad, and when Brad nods his head lightly a lazy smirk crosses Ray’s face. “Awesome.”

  


Nate looks between the two of them, his expression guarded. He shifts his weight until he’s sitting on his heels, palms resting flat against his thighs. “If I do this, I get to go home,” Nate says, glancing over at Brad. “You aren’t just going to change your mind.”

  


”To be fair, you really have no way to know that for sure,” Ray says, and Brad has to resist the urge to snap at him. “But yeah, hey. As far as guys in our line of work, we’re basically the most honest men you’re ever going to meet.”

  


”I’m absolutely charmed,” Nate says wryly, and Ray laughs at him. He brings his hands up to toy with the end of his shirt, torn between tugging it up and smoothing it down. “Should I - ?”

  


Ray makes a small sound before looking over at Brad again. He doesn’t ask  _Are you sure?_  but it’s obvious on his face. He waits for Brad to nod lightly before he smiles again and turns toward Nate. “Take off your shirt and get over here,” Ray says, stepping into the room proper and letting the door click locked behind him.

  


Nate obeys almost instantly, tugging his shirt up and off slowly before letting it fall to the floor. He shoots one last look in Brad’s direction before he pushes himself up to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion. It’s impossible to ignore the long lines of his body when he makes his way to Ray and slides to his knees just as easily as he stood.

  


Ray huffs out a breath, brushing his fingers along Nate’s face, the curve of his jaw. He smiles faintly when Nate tips his head into the touch and his eyes flicker shut. “So pretty,” Ray mutters. He runs his fingers through Nate’s hair slowly before he pulls away and tugs his own ratty T-shirt off. It falls to the floor and Ray kicks it out of the way.

  


It’s the end of the softness from Ray then, and Brad releases a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He doesn’t know what to do with himself while he watches Ray undo the buckle of his jeans, snapping it through the loops roughly. It’s not the first time Brad and Ray have been in a situation like this involving a third person. Brad shouldn’t feel so distant and awkward, but he does.

  


”Hold onto this for me,” Ray says, draping his belt around Nate’s shoulders carefully. He smirks when Nate adjusts it, making sure it doesn’t slide off of his shoulders, and Ray shoots a small triumphant smirk in Brad’s direction. “You smart enough to figure out what to do next?”

  


Nate doesn’t answer, not verbally. He brings his hands up to undo the button on Ray’s jeans, tugging the zipper down slowly. He shifts his weight, leaning closer towards Ray and presses a kiss along the line of Ray’s cock through his briefs. His face isn’t visible from where Brad’s sitting, but whatever Nate’s expression is, combined with his touch, it’s doing things to Ray.

  


Leaning back against the door, Ray pushes his jeans and briefs down his thighs slowly. He drags Nate forward by the belt draped around his neck and he doesn’t have to say anything for Nate to take the hint and suck Ray’s cock into his mouth. “Fuck,” Ray sighs, fisting a hand in Nate’s hair and tugging him closer.

  


Brad watches. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. Not when Ray’s chest is starting to get flushed and sweaty as Nate sucks, obscenely loud and wet and his hand jacks off what doesn’t fit in his mouth. Brad ignores Ray’s curses and  _Jesus H Christ on a motherfucking crutch, Brad, fuck, you have no fucking idea what he can do with his tongue –_  and focuses on the way Nate’s fingers skim up Ray’s thighs slowly, tugging his jeans further down Ray’s legs until he can grab Ray’s ass and drag him forward, forcing him to fuck deeper into Nate’s mouth.

  


Ray gives Nate what he wants, as best as he can, spreading his legs as far apart as possible with his jeans tangled around his knees. His fingers tighten in Nate’s hair, holding him in place while he rocks his hips forward and fucks his cock deeper into Nate’s mouth. Ray doesn’t stop talking, either. The words spilling from his lips are as obscene as the quiet choking sounds Nate is making and the soft grunts and whines that escape Nate when Ray thrusts in deeper. Ray makes Nate take him as deep as he can before he sputters, but he doesn’t stop, and Nate doesn’t make him.

  


”Wait,” Ray breathes, his voice keening. He’s close, Brad knows Ray, would know it even if he didn’t just from the sounds he’s making and the way he’s biting at his lips. Ray tugs Nate’s hair, pulling him off of his cock. He tugs until Nate’s up on his knees, but stops him with a hand to his shoulder when Nate tries to stand. “Wait,” he says again.

  


Nate takes the hint well enough, pressing his fingers into Ray’s hips and makes small, encouraging sounds while Ray strokes his cock in rough, fast jerks. “Ray,” Nate moans, his voice rough, “ _Please_.”

  


Ray makes a startled sound, letting out a haggard  _fuck_  as he comes. He works his cock through it, stroking himself and cursing. Ray’s got his free hand fisted in Nate’s hair, angling him where he wants him, and Ray doesn’t let go until his dick’s done pulsing and he has to catch Nate’s wrists to stop him from wiping his face.

  


Nate makes an inquisitive sound and Ray tightens his grip on Nate’s wrists.

  


”Don’t,” Ray tells Nate, his breathing ragged. He squeezes Nate’s wrists until Nate makes another sound, pained, before he lets them drop. “I want you to look at Brad. Fuck. Let him see you all marked up like that. Then, if you’re a good boy, I’ll fuck you so hard you scream ‘til you’re hoarse.”

  


There’s a long moment of silence where Brad and Ray wait for Nate to move, but he goes stock still. It’s not until Ray brings a hand up to touch Nate’s face, guiding his chin until he’s looking over his shoulder at Brad that he looks. His cheeks are flushed in embarrassment, his lips swollen and red even as he purses them together. Brad’s more focused on the way Ray’s come looks on his skin though, across his cheeks and sliding down the curve of his jaw. When it drips from his nose to Nate’s mouth, his tongue peaks out instinctively to wipe it away.

  


”Jesus fucking Christ,” Brad says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. He presses a hand to the front of his jeans, against his dick straining up against the fabric, because he can’t even pretend this isn’t doing it for him anymore.

  


”I know, right?” Ray asks, a lopsided grin on his face. “Isn’t he just the prettiest fucking thing ever? You have no idea what you’re missing out on not letting him put those lips on you.”

  


Brad bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at Ray or worse – changing his mind. He scoots back on the bed slowly until his back is against the metal frame of the headboard and gives Ray a pointed look. He stops pressing against his dick to pull a tube of lube out of his pocket and the grin on Ray’s face goes manic.

  


”Get naked and get on the bed,” Ray says, running his fingers through Nate’s hair slowly. “Don’t lose my belt or I’ll have to beat you with it.”

  


Nate shudders softly, his eyes closing and he looks forward again. He pushes himself to his feet shakily and starts to fumble with his jeans, pushing them down his legs slowly, thumbs hooking into the elastic of his boxers to drag them down, too. It’s an awkward action, watching Nate hesitate as he kicks off the last of his clothes before standing naked, his head tipped down and his flush extending to his ears.

  


”Bed,” Ray reminds Nate, pressing against his chest lightly. “Face Brad.” He cocks his head to the side as he watches Nate obey, before he meets Brad gaze. It’s impossible to tell what Ray’s thinking right now, even with the years of experience Brad has, but whatever is making his expression so unreadable is gone when he shakes his head and pushes off his own jeans the rest of the way. “I hope you have condoms because I sure as fuck am not stopping to fetch them.”

  


”I’ve got you covered,” Brad says, but he doesn’t look at Ray. Doesn’t see why he would want to when Nate is sitting on his heels across from Brad, staring at his own lap. Brad watches Nate curl his fingers into his thighs, fighting to resist the urge to wipe his face and it must be driving him crazy – though because the come is there in the first place or because it’s Ray’s, Brad isn’t sure.

  


The bed groans under Ray’s weight when he climbs onto the mattress behind Nate, urging him forward a few inches until Nate’s knees are brushing Brad’s own. “You sure you don’t want this?” Ray asks. He presses a kiss against the back of Nate’s neck before looking at Brad over a pale, sloped shoulder and quirks an eyebrow. “When’s the last time you saw something this pretty? I’d even let you go first.”

  


Nate’s fingers go tense against his thighs before he smooths them out, like he isn’t quite sure what to do about Ray peppering his skin with soft kisses. He glances up to meet Brad’s gaze, finally, his green eyes impossibly bright. “It’s okay,” Nate says, and his voice is rough around the edges.

  


”Just do it already,” Brad says, tossing the container of slick. He smiles when Nate catches it easily and pushes himself forward. He leans in close enough to wipe a hand over Nate’s face, cleaning away some of the mess Ray made, and the look Nate sends him is grateful. Brad ignores it and wipes his hand on the blanket at his side. “Ray.”

  


”Right,” Ray says, nodding his head in agreement. He nips at Nate’s shoulder roughly, causing Nate to startle slightly. He reaches around Nate for the slick, which Nate hands him without comment, and he bites Nate again. His teeth worry the skin where Nate’s neck meets his shoulder and Ray watches Brad out of half lidded eyes.

  


The snap of the lube being opened has Nate’s eyes snapping open, and he spreads his legs wider instinctively. Nate wipes at his face with one hand, clumsily smearing Ray’s come across his skin, before he bites down on the knuckle of a finger to fight back the small sound that escapes the back of his throat. His eyes are wide, bright, but he doesn’t look scared, not like he should.

  


It’s impossible for Brad to see just what Ray’s doing, but judging by the small sounds Nate is making, it’s pretty easy to guess. His fingers are curled around one bony hip, holding Nate in place while he works him open.

  


Nate’s eyes are glassy and locked on Brad’s, the flush in his cheeks high and bright and he looks so impossibly pretty right now. He lets Ray tug his hand away from his mouth so he has no choice but to let them hear his moans.

  


”Move,” Ray says, eventually. His fingers trace circles on Nate’s hipbones slowly. His forehead is pressed against Nate’s shoulder, hiding his face and muffling his voice. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Jesus, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you on my fucking cock. You ever done this before, Nate? Ever let someone else shove their fingers up your ass? Ever used your own?”

  


There’s no answer from Nate. He shifts his weight, clumsily balancing his palms on the blanket between his spread thighs. He splays his fingers out, head dropping and cutting the contact between his and Brad’s gaze. It’s hesitant when he starts to move, awkward, and Brad thinks that’s answer enough for Ray’s question. Nate doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really, but he’s trying and he’s not complaining.

  


Really, it’s kind of a shame that this is how Nate has come into their lives and their bed – relatively speaking, anyway. His silent obedience is doing things to the both of them, Brad and Ray, Brad is sure, even if the consent of it all is dubious at best. Still, Nate is moaning softly and rocking his hips back onto Ray’s fingers.

  


The slew of obscenities spilling from Ray’s lips doesn’t stop, but his voice does drop until he’s barely a rumble over the blood pounding in Brad’s ears, through his veins. Ray’s nails are biting into Nate’s hip, and he doesn’t relax them even when he tells Nate to  _stop_. He wipes his slick fingers on Nate’s hips as almost an idle action, before he snaps and opens his palm. “Belt and condom, now.”

  


A shudder runs through Nate at Ray’s words, and he cocks his head up to look at Brad again from under his lashes. He licks his lips slowly when Brad arches his hips up to get a hand in his pocket to pull out the strip of condoms, holding them out for Ray. Nate takes them carefully and slowly tugs the leather belt from around his neck, pushing both items into Ray’s fist.

  


”Good boy,” Ray says, smirking. He drops the condoms into his lap but bites the belt between his teeth. Ray’s fingers skim over Nate’s shoulders slowly, down his biceps, and he guides Nate’s arms behind his back slowly. “It kind of sucks that we can’t keep you,” Ray says around the leather in his mouth and when Nate goes tense at the words, Ray runs a hand over his back soothingly. “Relax, or this is really going to fucking hurt.”

  


Nate hangs his head again, trembling slightly, but he lets Ray make a loop with his belt and bind Nate’s wrists together behind his back. His jaw clenches when Ray drags the leather together tight, exhaling sharply.

  


Brad watches him carefully for any sign of discomfort, but if it bothers Nate that much, he doesn’t say anything. His chest is heaving slightly, manic, and he’s trembling in anticipation. When Ray pulls away to crawl off the bed, and unlatch the footboard, letting it fold over onto itself and giving Ray more room to work with, Nate’s eyes snap open again and he looks over his shoulder. “What – “

  


”Shut up,” Ray says idly. He gets a knee on the bed and reaches for Nate’s arm, tugging him back on the bed. “Trust me,” he adds, more so to himself, but he’s already let go of Nate and ripped open a condom. With a hand to the top of Nate’s spine, Ray guides Nate down until his shoulders touch the mattress and his ass in the air. Ray flashes a smirk at Brad before he drops his gaze, running his fingers over the curve of Nate’s ass. “Jesus fuck.”

  


Nate makes a small sound, wiggling his hips slightly. It’s hard to tell if he’s doing it out of nervousness and anticipation, or if he’s trying to be enticing. It gets Ray to bring the back of his hand down on Nate’s ass, the smack more loud than rough, and Nate jumps and cries out at the touch, startled.

  


Ray blinks up at Brad, lips slightly parted. “Hold onto that train of thought,” he says, rubbing his knuckles along where he smacked Nate. “We’ll come back to that.” He rolls on a condom slowly and tugs Nate’s hips, urging him down the bed a little bit more. He presses his fingers back into Nate, checking to make sure he’s okay, before he’s pulling them out and replacing them with his cock without warning.

  


The sound Nate makes is somewhere between a gasp and a groan, like he can’t quite make up his mind. It goes straight to Brad’s groin, and he gives up on pretending this isn’t doing things to him, that rubbing the heel of his palm along the line of his dick is going to be enough. He’ll come in his pants if he keeps this up, and that’s the last thing Brad needs right now.

  


Ray rocks his hips forward slowly, pushing into Nate a pinch before pulling out and pressing forward again, sliding a little bit deeper each time. The motions are steady, almost gentle, and he doesn’t stop until his hips are pressed flush against Nate’s ass and he’s buried deep. ”Fuck,” Ray groans, digging his fingers into Nate’s hips tightly. “So fucking tight, Brad. He’s so fucking  _good_. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ – “

  


Brad ignores Ray’s words in favor of focusing on the way Nate’s fingers clench into the blanket, the glassy look in his eyes in such pretty contrast to the flush that’s burning brightly over his face and the soft pants coming from Nate’s parted lips. Popping the button on his jeans shouldn’t be as much of a relief as it is, but his cock is throbbing and he needs to get a hand on himself now or he’s going to lose his mind.

  


Nate’s eyes blink blearily up at Brad before he drops his gaze to Brad’s hands, licking his lips when Brad tugs down his zipper and cants his hips up to ease his jeans and shorts down his hips slightly to free his cock and give him more room to work with. He moans softly, and it’s impossible to tell if it’s from Ray pulling out and thrusting back in or the sight of Brad fisting his cock in front of Nate’s face.

  


”Nate,” Ray moans brokenly. He digs his fingers into Nate’s skin until they’re sure to leave bruises, his knuckles going white from his grip, but Nate doesn’t complain about it. Ray fucks into him harder, faster, his hips snapping forward and the sound of skin on skin joins the sound of Ray’s rough breaths and filthy promises and the groans being torn from Nate’s lips with every sharp snap of Ray’s hips into him.

  


At first, Nate just takes it. He keeps sliding forward every time Ray’s hips meet his ass, pushed forward by every thrust. He grunts when Ray bottoms out and tries to push back for more, tries to stop sliding forward. Nate manages to twist his body enough to dig a shoulder into the mattress, and it helps keep him in place, but not much.

  


It means his face is hidden from Brad, and that shouldn’t suck as much as it does. Brad ignores it though, watches the sweat slick down Nate’s skin along his spine and listens to the needy sounds escaping from the back of Nate’s throat. He has to force himself to relax his grip on his cock, to slow down the long strokes or he’s going to come long before this over. He can’t help it though, not when Ray is forcing the most obscene sounds out of Nate’s pretty lips ever.

  


Ray makes a sound, something small and almost pained, and it’s a sure a sign as any that he’s getting close to the edge, ready to topple over. He lets go of one of Nate’s sweaty hips with one hand, nudging Nate’s thighs further apart and then presses down on the back of Nate’s neck, forcing him further into the mattress and holding him in place. It changes the angle Ray’s cock is sliding into Nate and Nate cries out sharply in surprise.

  


”Ray,” Nate gasps out and he presses his knees into the mattress, pushing back for more. “Ray,  _please_ ,” Nate begs, and even though he isn’t asking for anything specific, can’t seem to make any noises beyond desperate whines and moans, Ray gets the hint. Nate cries out every time Ray slams into him, struggling so hard to hold himself in place and push back to meet every snap of Ray’s hips.

  


Brad doesn’t know where to look, isn’t sure what’s more important; the way Nate’s muscles are trembling under his flushed and sweaty skin or the way Ray is white knuckling Nate’s hip, his own lip pinched between his teeth as he tries to hold back. It’s difficult not to lose himself in the sound of Nate begging, even over the pounding of blood in his ears. Brad’s biting his own lip to keep himself back, digging his nails in his thighs because he can’t stop stroking himself, thankful for the smear of precome even if it is still too dry, too rough, because Brad really fucking needs this.

  


Nate howls when Ray thrusts into him again he topples over, his knees giving out underneath him. Ray struggles to hold himself up over Nate, to hold onto his hip, but he sinks his teeth into Nate’s shoulder and the sound he makes is nigh on pathetic. They both tremble through the aftershocks, Ray’s body pinning Nate’s to the mattress, and they’re so close Brad could touch them, if he wanted.

  


Ray doesn’t pull out, not right away, and his chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He pushes himself up on wobbly arms, looking at Brad through blown out pupils, glancing from his face to his cock and licking his lips. “Nate,” Ray says, sitting back on his heels over the back of Nate’s thighs. “Look at Brad.”

  


Nate obeys instantly, resting his chin on the mattress and peering up at Brad from under his lashes, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and it’s enough. Brad comes with a bitten off groan all over his fist and the mattress and his jeans. “Fuck,” Brad groans, slumping back against the headboard.

  


Ray laughs, high and pained sounding. “No fucking kidding,” he says, his voice shaky. He tugs off his condom and knots it, letting it fall over the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. Brad should complain, should be disgusted, but he doesn’t have it in him to do any more than shoot Ray a reproachful look. “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

  


A small sound rumbles from Nate’s chest, but he presses his cheek back against the mattress and closes his eyes. He doesn’t flinch when Ray starts to untie him, easing Nate’s arms back down onto the mattress at his sides. He looks small and tired and used and Brad has no doubts if it wasn’t for human biology, Ray would be asking for another round.

  


”What next?” Ray asks. He drags his knuckles along Nate’s spine slowly, probably subconsciously, and Nate makes a pleased, humming sound. Ray stops, and there’s a wry little smile on his face.

  


Brad doesn’t answer right away, trying to catch his breath. He makes a face, smearing his come on his fingers, before he wipes his hand on the blanket at his side. He’s going to have to wash the damn thing, anyways. “Did you come?” Brad asks, waiting for Nate to make a small sound and nod weakly. “Call his dad. Tell him Godfather is trading in the cash for a favor instead. Let him think it’s over, for now.”

  


”Okay,” Ray says softly. He ducks down to kiss a bite mark on Nate’s shoulder, nipping at it lightly. He pushes himself up off the bed, wobbling on his knees slightly before he makes his way over to his jeans and he pulls them on. He whistles, punching in the code and slipping out of the small room, leaving the rest of his clothes where they lay.

  


Shaking his head, Brad tucks himself back in and pulls his jeans up. He zips and buttons them, but he doesn’t bother with his belt. He’s going to be kicking them off for something clean shortly anyways. “If you tell anyone what happened here, we’ll have to kill you,” Brad says softly, pushing himself off of the bed carefully to avoid jostling Nate any. He stops at the foot of the bed to look at Nate, letting his eyes roam over the long lines of his body slowly, memorizing how he looks like this. “Not even your daddy will be able to protect you.”

  


Nate makes a small sound, turning his head to look at Brad out of half-lidded eyes. “’m not stupid,” he mutters, and there’s a hint of annoyance under his exhaustion. It makes Brad snort and Nate furrows his brows slightly. “Family would think I was crazy, anyways.”

  


”Yeah, well,” Brad starts. He shakes his head and bites his tongue, doesn’t mention that he wouldn’t be surprised if Nate ended up in therapy after this chain of events in the least. “Go to sleep, kid. You’ll be home soon.”

  


”’m not a kid,” Nate says blearily, but he doesn’t bother to fight Brad’s words. It’ll make it easier this way, if he drifts off. He won’t resist when Brad presses a rag drenched in chloroform to his face, covering his airways with it. Nate’s exit, his freedom, will be quick and painless. He’ll still be alive for it, even.

  


Brad’s just glad that this is finally over.


	5. Nate

Nate wakes up with a choked sob, a strangled scream catching in his throat before he can wake up the entire house. His heart is pounding in his chest so loudly the entire city has to hear it and he clutches the front of his shirt as he tries to calm the racing, to breathe. His head is spinning from lack of oxygen and the sudden adrenaline pumping through his system isn’t helping any.

The last three days have all gone like this, Nate waking in a cold sweat and only the vague memory of fear pumping through his veins. He can’t remember his dreams, not exactly, but he remembers dreaming of a small, white room and the bruises on his wrists and hips ache.

Nate thumbs at the bruises of one wrist, idly, when his heartbeat starts to even out, and Nate lays back down. He rolls onto his side to face Walt – Walt, who is curled up and fast asleep on the other side of Nate’s queen bed, blankets pulled up to his ears, and he’s close enough to touch. Nate reaches out to do just that, brushing his fingers against Walt’s shoulder lightly, not to wake him, but to make sure he’s still here and Nate isn’t dreaming.

That first night, when Nate woke up in a motel room with a hundred dollars in his pocket and two aspirin on the night stand, he thought he’d been dreaming. He was convinced he was going to wake up and he’d be back in his cell, cold and alone. That feeling hasn’t gone away, not really, and every time Nate closes his eyes he expects to be back there when he wakes up.

It makes sleeping a bitch, to say the least.

But Nate has anti-depressants his father got his hands on without telling Nate how and he’s got sleeping pills on his nightstand. More importantly, Nate has Walt, who is the only person in the universe who doesn’t look at Nate like he’s fragile and needs to be locked away in a tower for the rest of his life.

Walt is a solid wall of warmth, probably from hogging the covers, and Nate finds himself rolling closer to him just so he doesn’t freeze. Walt doesn’t react any beyond snuffling lightly, and he clings tightly to the covers when Nate tries to ease them out of his grasp and reclaim at least a part of them for himself. After a moment of struggling, Walt’s grip relaxes and he cracks open one eye tiredly. “Mine.”

Nate laughs, because he’s not sure what else there is to do. “It’s my blanket,” Nate whispers. They’ve had this argument a million times since they were children, whispered in the dark as they play tug o’ war for the covers, and Nate doesn’t understand why that has to change now. “It’s my bed.”

”Mine,” Walt says again tiredly, and the corners of his lips are tipping up into a lazy smile. He fights Nate for control for another moment, before easing his grip and letting Nate reclaim some of the blanket for himself. “You sleep?”

Nate doesn’t answer until he’s managed to wrap himself up in a snug cocoon, close enough to elbow Walt’s side if he had left himself enough room to move. “A little,” Nate says, closing his eyes and nuzzling into his pillow. “Sorry for waking you.”

”No big deal,” Walt replies, yawning widely. He wiggles in closer to Nate, trying to steal more of the blanket back but gives up after a minute, when Nate fights back and refuses to let Walt have any. He makes an annoyed sound and flops back onto the mattress. “If I freeze, I’ll punch you.”

”You’re not going to freeze,” Nate mutters. He isn’t surprised when Walt doesn’t reply, and it only takes a few minutes before the sound of Walt’s breathing evens out again in the dark. Nate’s wide awake and he doesn’t even want to try and go back to sleep, but he knows better than to wake Walt up again.

As much as Walt pretends he isn’t worrying and fretting over Nate like Nate’s sisters and parents are, Nate knows Walt actually is. Walt doesn’t worry like they do, trying to weasel the story out of him and demand to know the story behind every bump and bruise. No, Walt buys a half dozen tubs of ice cream and eats them all with Nate while they play _Mario Kart_ on Nate’s bedroom floor. It’s how Walt worries. It’s how Walt has always worried.

It’s best to let Walt sleep, is the point. Because Walt will worry if he’s awake and Nate doesn’t want Walt to worry. Everyone worried about him when he was gone, fretted over him enough for the rest of his life when he got back. Nate just wants them to be okay, to think he’s okay, even if Nate isn’t sure if he is or not.

Nate _will_ be okay though, eventually. He just needs to adjust and to go back to school where he can get away from all of this, to put it behind him so he can move on already. He’s only got a few more hours of his parents looking at him with watery eyes every time he walks into a room. Nate can do this, he can get through it.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to convince his parents to let him leave with Walt to go back to Dartmouth, but he’ll find a way. He has to.

\- - -

Walt has been a semi-permanent fixture in the Fick household since he was six, just like Nate has been at the Hasser’s. It’s why no one is surprised or bothered by the fact Walt’s been crashing with them since Nate’s return and it’s probably the only reason Nate doesn’t have to kill Walt for seeing his sisters in their nighties.

They’ve been sharing a bed for the same amount of time, which is why Nate’s parents don’t freak out whenever they walk into Nate’s room to find them curled against each other and sharing blankets. Nate would throw a pillow at the door, but Walt usually beats him too it.

It’s okay, Walt is family. He won’t get in trouble for it, not really.

”I’m not getting up,” Walt says, snagging Nate’s pillow and burying his face in it. He sighs heavily, flopping onto his side to scowl at Nate sleepily. “It’s the last day before we go back and I ain’t getting up until we have to leave.”

Nate bites his tongue, because he still isn’t sure if his parents realize he’s got to get back to school today and he’s not really ready to bring it up just yet. He shoves at Walt’s shoulder though, fighting with him until he can reclaim his pillow. “You’re going to get fat if you sleep all day.”

”Fuck you, I’m not fat,” Walt scowls. He fists his hand in the front of Nate’s shirt, but he hesitates before shoving him away. There’s a look in his blue eyes, something startled and concerned, but he doesn’t let go of Nate’s shirt. “Nate.”

Nate didn’t even realize his breath has caught in his throat until he hears his name on Walt’s lips. He relaxes back into the mattress and tries to smile, but he isn’t even sure if he succeeds. He closes his eyes when Walt lets go of his shirt. “Just gimme a minute.”

”I’m sorry, Nate,” Walt says, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows to look down at Nate. He furrows his brow and thins his lips, and he looks too much like an adorable pouty puppy for Nate to take him seriously. “I didn’t think.”

”It’s fine,” Nate murmurs. He rolls onto his back and wipes at his eyes sleepily. “I just. I need to get used to being around people again. I’ll be fine.”

Walt watches Nate with a look of mild concern, before shrugging his shoulders weakly. “Yeah. You’ll be okay,” Walt says, and there aren’t any words in the universe to explain how grateful Nate is for Walt not pushing this issue. “So what are our plans for today?”

”Gotta finish packing to go back to school,” Nate says, holding up one finger. “I have to go visit Mike in the hospital.” He ignores the clench of guilt in his stomach from having put off the visit for so long, but he can’t explain it. Not beyond the vague feeling that Mike being in the hospital was probably his fault. He holds up a second finger and ignores the look Walt is giving him. “I need to burn my sheets after having you sleep in them for the last few days.”

”Oh, fuck you,” Walt scowls. He looks like he wants to shove Nate, but decides against it. He thwacks him with the pillow though before rolling over onto the floor and standing up. Walt stretches, yawning widely, one hand tugging down his ratty grey tee to cover his tanned stomach idly. “You want me to come with when you visit Mike?”

Nate thinks about it for a moment, staring up at his bedroom ceiling. The obvious answer is _no_ because Nate needs to do this alone, but he can’t imagine his parents would be thrilled with him leaving anywhere without Walt at his side right now.

Walt has basically always been Nate’s guard dog his entire life. Not even Walt’s yellow lab is as faithful and protective as Walt is and Bailey is possibly the sweetest thing in the entire universe.

”Yeah,” Nate says instead, tipping his head to the side to look at Walt. “We can get lunch afterwards, before we come back and get our shit together to go.”

”You ready to go back?” Walt asks, and he means is _Are you ready to get away from here?_ Walt is the best friend in the universe for a very good reason, and Nate flashes him a tired smile in response. “I guess we’re going to see Mike at the hospital, then,” Walt says, nodding his head. He turns in a circle, looking for his jeans, and that’s that.

Nate honestly has no idea what he would do in life if he didn’t have Walt to guide him, to keep him safe and give him company.

\- - -

They take Walt’s car when they leave after promising Nate’s parents he’ll be fine. (They’re just going to the hospital and they’ll be back before they even know it. Yes, Nate does have his phone on him, no they don’t need to tag along just to be sure.) It’s in better condition than Nate’s Volvo, but not by much, and it doesn’t make his heart thud in his chest when he tries to climb in the passenger seat.

They squabble over music, because Walt, the messed up puppy he is, likes country, and Nate can only tolerate so much twanging, but driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole. It’s just how they do things. It’s familiar, and the music is turned low enough that it doesn’t annoy Nate. It’s a soft song, one that Walt hums along to, and Nate just rests his forehead against the glass window and watches the grey city inch by. The silence is comfortable.

”I hope no one broke into our apartment while we were gone this week,” Walt says suddenly, wiping a hand over his face and sighing tiredly. “My mom’s still pissed off at me about that. Like it was my fault someone kicked in the door and stole our TV.”

Nate fights back a thin smile. “Gabe said he would watch our place,” Nate says, glancing over at Walt. “At least if our stuff goes missing while we’re gone and the door hasn’t been kicked in, we’ll know who did it.”

”I don’t think Gabe’s the kind of guy to steal our shit,” Walt replies. He makes a thoughtful sound, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “That tweaker from our Humanities class last year, though. He’d probably pawn everything we had before we got back.”

Nate makes a soft, agreeing sound before he looks out the window again. “I’m sure Gabe will call the cops if he noticed anyone trying to steal our stuff.”

Walt’s quiet for a moment, before he glances over at Nate out of the corners of his eyes, his expression guarded. “Have you talked to Gabe recently?”

There’s a moment where Nate curls his fingers around his cellphone, and he doesn’t even realize he’s done it until he presses a button and his phone beeps at him. Nate relaxes his grip and stares harder out of his window. “We’ve talked,” Nate says, which is a blatant lie.

Judging from Walt’s scoff, he knows it, too. He doesn’t press the issue though, and turns his attention back out of the front window. “So you two aren’t going to - ?”

Nate doesn’t know if Walt means to say _start dating_ or _move in together_ \- because that had been Walt’s biggest concern when Nate handed over his key – but the answer is _no_ either way. Nate tells Walt, too, with an exhausted mutter, and he doesn’t know how he feels about any of it right now.

Walt just makes a vague sound in response, nodding his head. He leans over to turn the radio up, singing along _So baby, let’s sell your diamond ring, buy some boots and faded jeans and go away_. Listening to Walt sing country is basically the only way Nate really tolerates it, so he bites his tongue and doesn’t complain through the rest of the drive.

\- - -

The parking lot outside of the hospital is covered in slush, and Nate’s jeans are soaked up to his knees by the time he and Walt make it inside. He makes a frustrated sound, curling his toes in his sneakers, and tries to focus on the fact he’s cold and wet and miserable because it’s better than letting the guilt clawing at his stomach take over.

Walt tells Nate to stand still and look helpless while he asks about Mike, and normally Nate would object, because if anyone should be wooing anyone with sad eyes it’s Walt, but for once, he just does what he’s told. Walt leaves Nate standing in the middle of the floor, wet and dejected, and it’s easier to be and look miserable than he thought it would be.

Walt is at Nate’s side again in a second, holding his elbow and tugging lightly. “He’s this way,” he says gently, and he lets go of Nate’s elbow when he’s sure Nate will follow on his own.

 _Mike is okay_ , Nate tells himself. _Mike is alive._ His father said the shot was non-lethal. The fact he’s in the hospital still is just standard procedure for a gunshot wound. Mike is in non-critical condition and in a couple weeks (and maybe some physical therapy) he’ll be as good as new.

Nate knows these things. He _knows_ them.

It just doesn’t explain why Nate’s heart is thudding in his chest so hard it almost hurts, or why his vision is suddenly wet and blurry. It takes Walt touching Nate’s elbow again to remind him he needs to breathe, but it’s not until Walt leads him into a mostly empty, quiet hall that Nate remembers how to.

Walt just holds on to Nate’s elbow, his thumb stroking lazily against Nate’s coat until Nate calms down. He doesn’t press Nate, doesn’t ask Nate if he’s sure he wants to do this. Walt knows if Nate doesn’t do this now, he won’t get the chance to see Mike again for weeks or months. Walt just waits patiently, because that what Nate needs from him right now, and Walt has always given Nate what he needed.

When Nate calms down enough to see clearly again, Walt squeezes his elbow tightly before letting go. “Mike’s room is this way, I think,” he says softly. He leads the way without saying a word, watching Nate out of the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t have to say a thing for Nate to know he’s worried about Nate having another panic attack, or whatever these are.

Maybe Nate’s parents were on to something when they begged him to go into therapy. Not that Nate wants to talk about what happened, ever, with anyone. Nate really just wants to forget about what happened and move on already.

First though, first Nate needs to see Mike. He needs to know Mike is okay and that he’s not going to die anytime soon.

Mike is alone in a semi-private room when they find him, the bed opposite him untouched. He’s got a battered copy of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ in one hand, reading it lazily. His eyes flick up when Walt knocks awkwardly on the doorjamb, and he looks so impossibly relieved. “Nate,” he says, and Nate smiles weakly. “Walt.”

Nate isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do or say, and it takes Walt pushing at his shoulder for him to move into the room. He sits down heavily in the seat by Mike’s bed, wetting his lips quickly with his tongue before letting out a shaky breath. “You’re okay?”

”I should be asking you that,” Mike replies. He closes the book and tosses it to the end of the bed, out of the way. He raises his hand in a wave when Walt makes a vague comment about going to find a soda or something and slips out of the room, but his attention is all on Nate. “Everyone thought – “

”I know,” Nate says quickly, shaking his head and biting his lip. He closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath, tries to calm the racing of his heart because everything is fine, no one died and he’s going to be okay. It takes a few moments, but Mike waits patiently for Nate to open his eyes and look at him again. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

Mike snorts, a rough, derisive sound. “Nate, this isn’t your fault.” He holds up a hand weakly, silencing Nate. “Listen to me. The only people responsible for this are the ones who shot me and took you. I made a mistake. I slipped up. You should never have been taken. More importantly, your dad should never have gotten in bed with the mob.”

”My dad is a good man!” Nate argues, but he feels like a petulant child. He believes it though. His father _is_ a good man, he just made a mistake. People make mistakes. Nate doesn’t blame his father for what happened any more than he blames Mike for it.

”It’s amazing how you Fick boys can be so impossibly smart and completely idiotic at the same time,” Mike says wryly, rubbing at his face tiredly. He looks at Nate and he’s so exhausted, looks so _old_ , that Nate’s heart aches again. “Nate. Listen to me.”

”I’m listening,” Nate says softly, dropping his head. “I’m sorry.”

”Don’t be sorry,” Mike says, shaking his head. “You ain’t got nothing to feel sorry about, especially not this.” He gestures vaguely at his bandaged shoulder, before dropping his hand into his lap again. “Your mom said you don’t want to see a therapist, you don’t want to talk about your problems with someone you don’t know.” He holds up his hand again when Nate starts to object, silencing him. “You don’t want to talk about them with someone you do know, either. You’re gonna blow up if you keep bottling this in, Nate.”

”I’ll be fine,” Nate argues, shaking his head. “I am fine. Nothing happened. It was just. It was just unfortunate.”

”It’s one thing to take your parents for fools, but don’t you try that with me, Nathaniel,” Mike replies seriously.

Nate scoffs, biting at his lip. He drops his gaze to his lap and pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs at his temples. He wants to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want Mike to snap at him again. Nate doesn’t like it when Mike is unhappy with him. Mike is the closest thing Nate had to a male authority figure for the longest time, he loves and respects him more than he knows how to admit.

”Nate,” Mike says again, and it’s softer. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt any more than you have been.”

”I’m fine, Mike,” Nate says, looking up at Mike again. “I will be fine,” he amends, smiling tiredly, “Eventually.”

”I’ll take what I can get,” Mike replies, shaking his head. He watches Nate carefully for a second before glancing back down to the book he tossed aside earlier, then out of the window. “So, you plan on going back to Dartmouth? Shouldn’t you be leaving soon if you want to do that on time?”

”Walt and I are leaving after lunch,” Nate says and he’s relieved for the change of subject. Mike will push this, if he has to, but he trusts Nate enough to let it lie for now. He’s like Walt like that. “I still haven’t figured out how to tell my parents or if they even realize I’m leaving. My mom saw me packing, but…”

”Do you need me to threaten them?” Mike asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather you stay here where I can protect you, but you graduate this spring, don’t you?”

Nate laughs softly, startled. “Oh, that was the plan, yeah,” he says, nodding his head. “I think it’s for the best if you stay here and get better, though. Walt and I have a plan. A method.”

”Nate, I have spent the last week stuck in this hospital bed wishing I could be anywhere but here,” Mike says seriously, and Nate’s heart pangs, because he knows how that feels. Mike looks at him weird, but Nate shakes his head, because whatever is showing on his face is not something he wants to talk about. “You and Walt plan on sneaking out the windows again?”

”That was one time and we were fifteen,” Nate scowls. “I didn’t know there were alarms and we wanted to go to a party.”

”A party the cops crashed and you should be grateful you didn’t go to,” Mike counters, but he’s smiling at Nate and his eyes are bright. “Don’t be too rough on them, Nate. Your parents are good folks. They’re just worried.”

”I know,” Nate says. He rubs at his neck and looks down guilty, his fingers pressing into one of the bruises that hasn’t even started to fade yet. It hurts, but not as much as the guilt does, and Nate presses his fingers into the mark while he tries to think. “I just need to get out of here, Mike.”

”I know,” Mike says softly. He’s quiet for a minute, watching Nate carefully, before he sighs heavily and looks towards the door. “Where the hell is Walt with those sodas he promised?”

”I didn’t promise anyone sodas,” Walt said, peeking around the doorway into the room. “And I was right here, waiting awkwardly and pretending to be a good person and concerned friend by letting you two talk.”

”I hate you,” Nate says, but Walt slips into the room and passes him a Fanta and Nate thinks he could maybe hate Walt a little less right now. “How long were you there?”

”I wasn’t listening in, if that’s what you were asking,” Walt says, plopping down heavily in the spare chair. He offers Mike a Fanta and a Root Beer, settling back in his seat after Mike takes the latter and pops open his own soda. “Well, I was listening for my name to see if I could come back in here without you guys glaring daggers at me for interrupting the moment or whatever.”

”There were no moments to be interrupted,” Nate says, sipping at his drink. “Nothing went down that could possibly have needed interrupting. We were just talking.”

Mike rolls his eyes while Nate and Walt make faces at each other, sipping his drink idly. “You ready to go back to school?” He asks Walt.

”I’m ready to graduate, more like,” Walt huffs. He pauses, frowning. “Except for the part where I’m supposed to go out and get a real job and be a grown ass man and pay bills and stuff. In which case, I think I would rather stay in school for a couple more years, pick up a few more useless majors like Classics or something – “

Walt makes a startled sound when Nate punches him. Rubbing the spot on his arm, he glares at Nate, but it’s without any real heat.

”- but I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Walt continues, shrugging. “You ready to get out of here? How much longer you gotta be in here, anyway?”

”Another week, at least,” Mike says, annoyed. “They want to be sure I’m not going to tear my stitches or something, hell if I know.” He pokes the edge of his bandage where it’s visible under his hospital gown, running his finger along the seam of tape and gauze. “I’ll be fine though.”

”You’ve got Harry Potter to keep you company,” Nate says, nodding. He’s going for teasing, relaxed, and he doesn’t know if he made it, but there’s a rush of relief at knowing Mike isn’t going to be here forever. Which Nate knew, realistically, wasn’t going to happen, but it’s still nice to hear.

”Found that book,” Mike explains. “Whoever was in here last forgot about it. I’ve only had to see the damn movies a million times already, might as well read the book.”

”Not my favorite one,” Walt says, glancing down at it. “Three is good. Four, though. Shit gets real.”

”I’m not going to read all of the Harry Potter books,” Mike says, rolling his eyes. “I’m just bored out of my mind right now.”

”If we had known we could have brought you something,” Nate says, smiling weakly. “Sorry.”

”Nate,” Mike says, and the warning about apologizing is obvious in his tone. He scoffs when Nate holds his hands up in defeat and turns his attention back to Walt. “You smack him for me if he gets to be too much of an idiot.”

Walt nods his head obediently and solemnly says, “It will pain me to do so, but I will do just that.”

”Don’t be a smartass, Hasser,” Mike says, but he’s grinning as widely as Walt is and for a few moments it’s easy to pretend that this is it, all that matters, and that everything really will be okay.

\- - -

They stop off at Walt’s after lunch because they decide it’ll be easiest to just get Nate’s stuff and make a break for it. Nate realizes the flaw in this plan when he’s helping Walt pack the last of his clothes. Between lunch and the emotional drain of seeing Mike, he’s exhausted, and all he really wants to do is climb into the front seat of Walt’s car and nap all the way to Hanover.

Not that Walt would let Nate do it. Nate has to do his share of the driving or Walt will bitch at him and make sad faces and Nate really doesn’t want to put up with that on top of everything else.

Walt looks around his room slowly after folding the last of his shirts and rubs a hand over his face. “I think that’s everything,” he says. He drums his fingers on his desk in the empty spot his laptop should sit, but that’s at Nate’s place, and he can’t take his desktop with him. His bed is made, untouched except for the bag bursting at its seams on top of it and the sleeping Labrador. “Okay, yeah.”

”We’re not going to have to turn around an hour into the trip just because you forgot your toothbrush or Spiderman nightlight, are we?” Nate asks, flopping back onto Walt’s bed and pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Because I went to camp with you when we were seven. You were a bitch without that nightlight.”

”And yet you’re the one who hid his baby blanket in his pillowcase until he was eleven,” Walt replies, shooting Nate a mock dark look. “My toothbrush is at your place and I got it for like fifty cents at Walgreen’s. I can buy a new toothbrush. Come on.” Walt grabs his bag, shouldering it, before holding his hand out to Nate.

”Yeah, about that,” Nate huffs, partly because he just laid down and partly because it’s an effort to let himself be pulled back up to his feet. “Don’t buy toothbrushes just because they’re cheap. The pink sparkles are kind of gay.”

”But still not as gay as you,” Walt huffs out. He slings his arm around Nate’s neck and tugs him down, mussing up his hair. “With your big green eyes and pink lips. Jesus. Ninety percent of the guys we hang out with at school ask me if you’d be willing to blow them.”

Nate makes a small noise and shoves Walt away from him with a scowl. “At least I’m not a corn-fed hick,” he mutters, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it out. “Also – wait, what? Who asked you that?”

Walt doesn’t answer as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder and leans down to scratch the sleeping dog behind her ears and kiss the top of her head. “Bye bye, Bailey,” he mutters, and Nate pointedly looks away to avoid seeing the sad pout Walt always gets when he has to leave his dog. “Right, let’s go.”

Walt’s mother is at work and he’ll call her when they’re on the road. It leaves nothing for Nate to do but trail after uselessly after Walt and climb into the front seat while Walt loads his stuff into the back. It only takes a second for Walt to join him, sliding into the driver’s seat and slip his sunglasses on. “So how are we going to play this?”

For a second, Nate is confused, but then is Walt is pursing his lips and quirking an eyebrow and Nate makes a contemplative sound. “Normally, I would just say we should just sneak out and hope for the best,” Nate says slowly, staring out the front window, “but given recent events...”

Turning over the ignition, Walt makes a contemplative sound of his own. He’s quiet as he looks over his shoulder to back his car out of the drive, but when he hits the street he huffs out a breath. “They have to let you go back. We graduate soon.”

”I know,” Nate says softly, thumping his head back against the headrest on his seat. “I don’t know which would be worse, talking to my mom or dad right now.”

”At least your dad is at work,” Walt reminds him gently. “And Mike is all for you going back to school. That’s gotta count for something.” He glances at Nate for a second before glancing back at the road quickly. “Besides, won’t you be safer – “ Walt stops himself suddenly, snapping his jaw shut and biting his lip.

Nate closes his eyes and makes a small sound. “Out of the city where – “ It’s stupid, the fact he’s hesitating in naming what happened to him, but saying he was kidnapped makes it real and he doesn’t know if he can keep on denying it happened if he admits it. Nate makes a small sound, and it’s enough for Walt to nod his head in understanding. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

Walt’s hand is warm when he reaches over to pat Nate’s shoulder awkwardly, and he squeezes it lightly before letting it go again. “We’ll figure this out,” he says softly, and his conviction is enough to help ease some of the anxiety clenching in Nate’s stomach. “We might have to bring your mom to Hanover with us so she lets up. She can sleep in your room and you can have the couch.”

Letting out a startled laugh, Nate opens his eyes and looks at his best friend. “I’ve let you sleep in my bed for the last three days and you’re going to couch me as soon as we get back to the apartment? You’re a dick.”

”I can’t get laid if you’re up in my space,” Walt says, flashing Nate a sweet smile. It makes Nate laugh again and suddenly Walt is grinning. “Seriously though. If that’s what it takes, I’m willing to work with you here.”

”I don’t know what I’d do without you, Walt,” Nate says tiredly, melting back into his seat and closing his eyes again, and he means every word of it.

”Crash and burn, more than likely,” Walt hums and Nate just grins in response.

\- - -

Nate’s sisters are back in school already, the both of them, so it’s easy enough to get into the house and into his room unnoticed. Walt trails after him obediently, and while they’re not exactly creeping through the large, silent halls, they might as well be for all the noise they’re making.

Walt moves without being told to fetch Nate’s toothbrush and stuff from the bathroom, throwing his own things into Nate’s black shower bag without a second thought. They’ve shared everything for as long as Nate can remember, it won’t kill them for their toothbrushes to be pressed together in a Ziplock baggie for a few hours.

It leaves Nate to rummage through his clothes quietly for a second, shuffling through the laundry pile sitting on his desk that he hasn’t quite got around to putting away to find what he wants to take with him. A good portion of his clothes are sitting in his bag untouched still, and Nate tries not to think about the why when he shoves the rest of his clothes back into his bag.

There isn’t much that he needs to pack beyond his clothes. He wasn’t home long enough to lose track of anything, and Nate has both his and Walt’s laptops packed and put away. He looks around his room for a second and shoves the few paperbacks and Gameboy he brought down from Hanover with him back in his bag after a few moments. He hesitates when it comes to picking up the orange bottles of antidepressants and sleeping pills before shoving them into one of the side pockets of his bag.

If Walt sees him do it, he doesn’t comment, just dumps his laptop bag on the bed next to Nate’s and puts his hands on his hips. “Okay. Operation Hanover has been going pretty smoothly thus far,” he says, staring down at their bags. He glances up at Nate and frowns. “You want to go find your mom and I’ll take the stuff to the car?”

Nate rubs a hand over his face tiredly, before nodding. “Yeah. Hopefully this won’t be too terrible.”

”Here’s hoping,” Walt agrees, clapping Nate’s back awkwardly. He picks up the bags, slinging them over his shoulders carefully before making a huffing sound. “Why am I always the pack mule?” He asks, but he’s already started for Nate’s bedroom door.

For a moment, Nate just watches him go. He hesitates finding his mother long enough to straighten out the blankets on his bed and smooth the creases out of one of his pillows. His fingers are itching to keep tidying up, but his room is clean, and Walt will bitch if Nate makes him wait.

Sucking in one last breath, Nate holds it long enough to count to ten before he lets it out and goes to find his mother. He doesn’t have to search that hard, she’s almost always in the den or sitting on the window seat in the kitchen this time of day. She doesn’t look up when he pads across the sunny tiles and it’s not until he nudges her ankles out of the way to join her on the cushion that she notices him.

”Hey, baby,” she says, closing her book and resting it on her lap. She smiles at him, and she looks as exhausted then Nate feels, and that seems almost impossible. Brushing her hair out of the way, she opens her arms for a hug and Nate consents, resting his chin on the top of her head for a second and wondering when his mother got to be so tiny. “Where did Walt get off to?”

For a moment, Nate just lets his mother rub his back like she used to do when he was little and his stomach hurt, but eventually he has to push away and look at her. “He’s loading the last of our stuff into his car.” When Nate meets his mother’s gaze, her expression has gone hard.

”You’re not going back to Dartmouth, Nate,” she says, steely and determined, and Nate would be scared if he wasn’t so exhausted and against the idea of staying. “You need to stay here, where your father and I can keep an eye on you and keep you safe.”

”I have to go back, mom,” Nate argues, shaking his head lightly. “I’m graduating this year. I have to go back.” He doesn’t know how to deal with the look on his mother’s face, the fear that he’s leaving them again might not come back this time, even though they’ve been through this same song and dance time and time again for years now. “It’s just Hanover.”

”It’s ten hours away!” Nate’s mother counters. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt and there’s no one there to take care of you – “

”I’ve got Walt,” Nate points out and he has to bite his tongue. He wants to tell her the worst thing anyone has ever done to Nate at Dartmouth is blowing him in his dorm room and then not talking to him for three weeks after. No one has ever hurt him and no one has any want to. He’s safer there than he’s ever been here. He can’t tell his mother this though, not without her looking at him like he broke her heart.

”Walt should know better!” She knocks her book to the floor when she stands up and starts to pace, one hand pressed over her mouth as she moves. She drops her hand and points a finger at Nate. “You can’t go back, Nate. I won’t let you.”

”You can’t actually stop me,” Nate reminds her gently. “I’m twenty three. I can leave at any time I want. I just wanted to tell you before I left so you wouldn’t think – “

The words die on Nate’s lips and his mother lets out a choked sob. “Nate, _please_. We almost lost you. Can’t you just take the rest of the semester off? You can retake your classes in the fall and graduate late.”

”No,” Nate says, clenching his jaw. “This is something I have to do.” He watches his mother’s resolve shatter and he hopes to God she doesn’t cry, because Nate doesn’t know how to live with himself if he makes his mother cry. “I’ll be fine, mom. No one can hurt me in Hanover; no one knows or cares who I am. I’m just Nate. I’m not the Senator’s son. I have Walt and – “

”I really don’t think you should go back,” his mother says, her voice dropping and her eyes watering. She’s going to start crying at any second and Nate is going to feel like shit for weeks about this. “Nate. Nathaniel, baby.”

”I really don’t think I can stay,” Nate says softly, pushing himself up off of the window seat. He moves towards her slowly, reaching out to touch her shoulders and just holds on. “I’ll be okay, mom. I just. I _have_ to go back.”

Something most show on his face, something he doesn’t know how to put words to, but his pleading finally seems to have broken through to her though. She wraps her arms around Nate’s middle and hides her face against his chest, her fingers fisting into the back of his hoodie. “I can’t lose you, Nate.”

”I’ll be fine,” Nate tells her softly, pressing his cheek against her temple. “I’ll call you as soon as I get there. I’ll call every day if I have to, but I’m going back.”

His mother lets out a startled laugh and lets go of Nate. She steps back and starts to straighten his jacket, his shirt, picking at lint and dust only she can see. “Okay. Okay. Where’s Walt?”

”At his car?” Nate says, and suddenly his mother is grabbing his wrist and dragging him forward through the house like she used to do when he was little. He isn’t surprised when they make it outside to find Walt leaning against his car and he shoots his best friend a confused look and a slight shrug when Walt quirks an eyebrow.

”You,” she says to Walt, letting go of Nate’s wrist and pointing a finger at him. “You will get Nate to Hanover in one piece. You will make sure he calls me tonight and you will make sure he calls me every day for the rest of his life, do you hear me?” She doesn’t actually say _or I will end you_ but the implication is exceedingly obvious from her tone alone.

Walt nods his head obediently. “I’ll take care of Nate, ma’am.” He flashes her a smile, lopsided and bright, and Nate’s mother relaxes a little when she sees it. “I always have.”

Nate’s mother mutters another _Good_ before turning to look at Nate. She drags him down into another hug and he lets her, wrapping his arms around her and trying to ignore the fact she’s crying. It was easier than he thought it would be, getting her okay, and he knows if he doesn’t leave soon she’s likely to change her mind. He can’t ask her to let go, though, and Nate’s just grateful Walt has enough common courtesy to look away and toy with his phone until she finally does.

\- - -

At first, Nate doesn’t recognize the feeling that’s spreading through his veins. They’ve left DC in the rearview mirror and Nate is listening to Walt talk about how he doesn’t look forward to having a lab tomorrow morning and the lilting of his voice as he sings along to the radio ( _If tomorrow never comes, will she know how much I love her?_ ).

Something changes. Something eases inside of him and he can breathe easier. He licks his lips and rubs a hand over his face, because he didn’t even realize there was a crushing weight on his chest until now that it’s starting to ease up.

”What are you smilin’ about?” Walt asks, quirking an eyebrow. His eyes aren’t visible under his sunglasses, but he’s got the same lazy grin on his face he always does when they spend a lot of time in the car just driving.

Nate doesn’t know how to answer that, how to explain that he feels better just leaving all the bad memories behind. He’s not naïve enough to think that suddenly he’s better, that the cold sweats, panic attacks and nightmares are gone for good but for the first time Nate gets the feeling he might honestly be okay. He’s going to live through this.

Instead of saying any of that, Nate shakes his head and keeps smiling, turning to look out the passenger window and watch the world speed by. He touches the glass, ignoring the chill, and he closes his eyes. “Nothing. Just wake me up when you want to change drivers.”

”Whatever you say, boss,” Walt hums at him. He reaches over to turn the radio up, just a pinch, and Nate lets the twang of acoustic guitars wash over him with Walt’s voice soft as he sings along mindlessly.

And for the first time in what feels like a very long time, everything is okay.

\- - -

Walt keeps driving until it’s time to pull over for dinner. They stop at a small diner, the perfect little cliché of the American dream with black and white tile floors and red vinyl seats. He’s got a stupid little grin on his face, because Walt loves places like this like he loves country music and his dog. He orders a strawberry shake and somehow bullies Nate into getting a chocolate one.

They’re just starting to bite into their burgers when Nate’s phone buzzes against his hip, startling him. He ignores Walt’s quirked eyebrow as he wipes his fingers on his napkin, pulling his phone out to check his messages. There’s a quip on his tongue about how he wonders if his mother is texting him already, asking if he’s crossed any state lines without getting hit by a bus, but the message is from Gabe.

Something must show on Nate’s face because Walt is suddenly frowning. “You can’t ignore him forever, you know,” Walt says after he swallows a mouthful of burger. He rolls his eyes when Nate shoots him a dark look. “I’m friends with him, too, Nate. You’re not the only person he texts semi-regularly.”

”I’m not ignoring him,” Nate says. As if to prove a point, he clicks open the message to read it -

 

> From: Gabe  
> Ate the last of your ice cream. Would apologize but you’re being a dick.  
> Mar 31, 6:32PM

 

\- and Nate huffs out in annoyance. “He ate my ice cream.”

”You probably deserve it,” Walt says, sipping at his strawberry shake. He wipes his hands on his napkin before pressing his elbows to the table and resting his chin in his palms. “Considering the way you’ve been treating him, you should be glad all he’s done is eat your ice cream.”

”I’ve been treating Gabe just fine,” Nate snaps. He ignores Walt’s pointed look and sends back a text to Gabe - _I’m sure I’ll live. Sorry. Been busy._ \- and while it’s not much and he’s sure it won’t soothe Gabe’s annoyance, but at least Nate can now say he’s tried. Or that he’s making an effort. Or something.

”I’m just saying,” Walt starts, but he shuts up when Nate gives him a pointed look. He rolls his eyes and picks up his burger, taking another bite. He waits until he’s finished chewing and swallows before he adds, “I like Gabe. It’d be cool if we could still be friends after you two break up.”

”We’re not breaking up because we’re not together,” Nate says. He picks at his fries, but suddenly his appetite is gone. It probably has something to do with sleeping late, spending a good portion of the day in the car and all the emotional twists and turns of the day, but Nate is beyond ready to climb into his bed at the apartment and just sleep the rest of his life away.

”Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” Walt replies, shaking his head. He turns his attention to his burger and fries with renewed vigor, devouring it all quickly.

Nate watches him eat for a moment before picking at his own burger again. His appetite is gone, but he knows he needs to eat, so he takes a bite of it and chews slowly anyways. It’s easy to drift off into a lazy, quiet lull. This is nothing uncommon for the two of them and it isn’t awkward or bad. It just is.

And maybe Gabe texts Nate back with two sarcasm filled words ( _He lives!_ ), the only reason Nate doesn’t respond is because he’s not entirely sure if he agrees. It has nothing to do with Gabe and the fact that Nate really isn’t looking for any sort of human companionship outside of Walt right now, sexual or otherwise.

Eventually, Nate is going to have to start believing himself.

\- - -

The last stretch of the drive is long and quiet. The classic rock station Nate had been listening to had faded out into a burst of static, and he can’t be bothered to change the station away from the white noise. Occasionally there are blips of something, but Nate doesn’t try to figure out what they are or where they’re coming from.

Walt falls asleep when they’re an hour out from Hanover, his iPod playing on even as he nods off. He’s slumped against the window, snoring softly, and Nate bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling and he isn’t entirely sure why.

Nate lets Walt sleep though, up until they’re pulling into the parking lot of the apartment building. The ground is slick, it’s cold and dark and miserable, but Nate can’t help but think it’s finally good to be home. Even if this won’t be his home anymore in a few months, it’s good enough for now.

Keying off the ignition, Nate reaches over to shake Walt’s shoulder lightly. “Hey,” he says gently, “Wake up.” There’s no response at first, so Nate shakes Walt’s shoulder again, harder, before dropping his hand to pinch Walt’s arm.

Walt startles, a small sound escaping him, and he bats at Nate’s hand tiredly. He wipes at his eyes and yawns, bleary and beat, before he unclicks his seatbelt and stretches lazily. It’s times like these where the _Walt is a puppy_ comments are more suited to be _Walt is a kitten_ , but Nate bites his tongue and gets out of the car.

They make their way slowly into the building, bags shouldered and careful not to drop them. They bypass the elevator in favor of the stairs, since they’re only three floors up and the elevator groans like a dying animal. Walt is humming something under his breath, something Nate recognizes but can’t quite place, and he doesn’t stop until they make it to the apartment and he unlocks the door.

”What time is your lab?” Nate asks. He runs a hand through his hair and drops his bags on the couch. He’ll sort out which one he needs more in the morning, after the sun is up. Assuming he wakes up in time to catch his afternoon class. It’s bad enough he’s missed most of this week already, he doesn’t think he can afford to miss any more days.

”Too fucking early,” Walt grumbles. He drops his bags on the couch next to Nate’s, and then he’s pushing past him to go to his own bedroom. He doesn’t manage to turn on the light or close the door, just crawls onto his bed and lets out a tired groan.

Nate watches Walt until he starts to snore, then shakes his head and moves to his own room. Unlike Walt, he actually manages to toe off his sneakers and kick off his jeans, shedding his jacket and watch on the bedroom floor before he climbs under the covers. Amazingly enough, for the first time in a long time, Nate’s out cold by the time his head hits the pillow.

\- - -

There are hands on his hips, his chest, tugging at his nipples and scratching red lines along his ribs, pressing bruises into the bone until he’s whimpering and begging for more. Nate arches into the touches as best he can, but his arms are bound behind his back and he’s pressed tight between two bodies, forced to stay where they want him.

It’s a maddening rush of sensations, the aching burn of being stretched open and fucked into hard, incapable of pushing back for more, the warm breath on the back of his ear and the wet heat of a mouth trailing down his neck before teeth sink into his collar, nails scratching and cutting. All of it distracts from the feeling of a fist curled around Nate’s cock, jacking him off tantalizingly slow.

Nate is helpless to do anything but beg, for _more_ and _harder_ and _faster_ , and the rush of words spilling from his lips isn’t ignored. He cries out again, louder, when the thrusts turn rougher, relentless, and the hand on his cock jacks him off in time with the slamming of hips. There are fingers circling around his throat, squeezing lightly until Nate is dizzy and breathless and ready to explode, cutting off his breath until he can’t breathe -

\- and he’s gasping for breath, for air, and he’s losing that feeling of being tight between two hot bodies giving him everything he wants and needs so badly -

\- until he manages to suck in a sharp breath and he’s choking on nothing. Nate claws at his blanket, because the heat is suddenly suffocating and his skin is damp with sweat. The light pouring in from the slats of his blinds is blinding and Nate’s not alone, there’s someone pushing at his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the mattress and Nate’s heart seizes in his chest because no, not again, _no no no no no_.

” _Nate_ ,” a sharp voice says, followed by a rough backhand to his chest that knocks the air out of him more than it hurts. It’s enough for Nate to suck in a breath and focus, to realize that it’s just Gabe kneeling on his bed, staring down at him with hesitance and concern. “Hey, you okay?”

Nate can feel his cheeks flush and he tugs his blanket up and hopes it hides the fact he’s achingly hard and he drops his head back into his pillows, heaving a heavy sigh. “Don’t you know how to knock?” he asks, but he’s not angry, just tired.

”I did, for like ten minutes,” Gabe says. He shifts his weight until he’s sitting cross-legged on Nate’s bed, elbows on his knees and chin in his palms. “I let myself in after that point. Then I tried knocking on your bedroom door and you just moaned at me.” He doesn’t blink when Nate groans, but a wry smile makes its way to his face. “Walt said he couldn’t get you up this morning before he went to his lab. Asked me if I would stop by and make sure you didn’t skip yet another class.”

Blinking slowly, Nate rolls his head to stare at his alarm clock. It’s after noon, which makes it later than he planned to sleep in, but he’s still got an hour and a half to prepare for and get to his first class of the day. Nate sighs again, before pushing himself up on his elbows to look at Gabe. “Thank you.”

”Don’t worry about it,” Gabe says, shrugging a shoulder weakly. “I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

Nate wants to tell Gabe that now isn’t a good time, but it’s not like he has anything else to do. Besides, after Gabe spent the last week and a half watching the apartment he shares with Walt for them, the least Nate can do is talk to Gabe for a few minutes. Even if he isn’t entirely sure what it is he plans on saying. “Can I get dressed first?” Nate asks.

There’s something in Gabe’s eyes, bright and pleased, and the smile on his face widens. “If you want. I’m perfectly fine with how you are now.”

The thought of being objectified by Gabe makes something twist into Nate’s stomach, but he doesn’t say a thing. He just rolls his eyes and pushes himself up into a sitting position, keeping his blanket close, even though his hard on is flagging and Nate seriously doubts Gabe would mind all that much. “Okay. So this would be about me texting back.”

”Always knew you were the smart one,” Gabe says wryly. He shifts his weight until he’s leaning back on his palms, but his smile is gone. The look he’s giving Nate is pointedly not amused and Nate feels a little guilty for shutting him out. “The least you could have done was reply _ell oh ell_ once in a while.”

”Something came up,” Nate replies. “Something – “ He’s at a loss for words as to how to explain this without going into any sort of details at all. It shouldn’t be this hard to lie to his friends. He can’t believe he’s actually wishing he was better at it. “I can’t talk about it,” Nate decides, which is as close to the truth as he can get. “Please don’t ask me to.”

Gabe’s jaw is a hard line, but he doesn’t say anything at first. He nods, then sits up and rubs a hand over his face. “Christ, Nate. If it wasn’t for Walt telling me you had serious family drama going on and assuring me you weren’t dead… You can’t just drop off the face of the planet like that. It fucking sucked. I was worried about you, you idiot. I thought we were fighting and I couldn’t figure out what the fuck we were fighting about.”

”I’m sorry,” Nate says, and he means it. “I didn’t think. It was just. Stressful. I couldn’t talk to anyone.” He’s grateful when Gabe just nods his head in understanding, and Nate tries to smile at him weakly. “I’m sorry,” Nate says again. “About everything.”

”It’s fine,” Gabe replies, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m still pissed that you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you didn’t want to talk yourself and left me hanging, but we’ll be fine as long as you don’t pull a stunt like this again.”

Nate smiles tiredly at Gabe, and Gabe returns it.

”Anyways, I’ve got some time before my first class,” Gabe says slowly, “And you do owe me a proper apology.” His fingers touch Nate’s ankle where his blanket has hitched up, thumb stroking along the bump of bone slowly.

It takes everything in Nate not to jerk away from Gabe. He doesn’t think it’d send across the right impression but his nerves are still crawling. He remembers his dream, large warm hands pressing bruises into skin while he gets shoved around, and Nate has to bite back a small sound. He doesn’t want that and he doesn’t want to have sex with Gabe, not right now. “I’m not really – “

Gabe quirks an eyebrow, waiting for Nate to come up with an explanation. He doesn’t stop touching Nate, his fingers sliding up Nate’s leg further before he seems to realize that Nate doesn’t want his attentions. Gabe stops, frowning, but doesn’t comment.

”I’m sorry,” Nate says weakly, drawing his knees in close to his chest and out of Gabe’s reach. He folds his arms over them, resting his chin on his crossed forearms. “It’s been a long week and I’ve got stuff to do – “

”Sure,” Gabe says, shrugging weakly. “I should probably get some lunch before class anyways.” He stretches when he stands up, his shirt rising up to show off the tanned skin of his stomach, and for once Nate doesn’t want to put his mouth there. “I’ll see you later then. Oh, wait,” Gabe stops, dropping his hands to his pockets to pull out a key, and he tosses it onto Nate’s bed. “So you can get back in after class. I’ll talk to you later.”

”Bye,” Nate says and Gabe just waves vaguely over his shoulder as he walks out of Nate’s room. Nate doesn’t get out of bed until he hears the front door to the apartment latch shut behind Gabe on his way out. He runs his fingers through his hair and he stumbles into the living room to drag his bag of clean clothes back to his bedroom. He roots through it idly, searching for something clean to wear, but he doesn’t care that much and he’s distracted.

If Nate jerks off in the shower, it’s no one’s business but his own. The pressing of bruises to help him remember his dream, the feeling of being held down and just used, it’s nothing. They’re just there and Nate can’t resist the urge when a low spike of lust surges through his system as his nail digs in.

It’s temporary, Nate is sure. All of this, this longing, will go away when his bruises fade. There’s no reason to get worked up about any of it now.


	6. Nate

It’s strange, being back in school. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since no one looked at him like he was delicate, like he was going to break down in the middle of the conversation or be snatched away from under their noses.

  


Nate knows Walt still worries. He can see it in Walt’s eyes when he catches him staring, but Walt always flashes him a brilliant smile and pretends everything is okay. They do a lot of that; pretending everything is okay. It will be, because Nate is determined to make it that way.

  


His parents worry, too, but after the first two weeks he eases off the daily, hour long phone calls into five minute updates here and there when he remembers to. It’s like being in high school again, asking for his parent’s permission to go to Walt’s after school and maybe stop by the movies and 7-11 at some point, if that’s cool, thanks.

  


It’s easy to lose himself in homework and essays, going to study groups and smiling at Gabe across battered tables in the library. It almost feels normal again and Nate does everything he can to push Spring Break to the back of his mind. It’s a good distraction, all the work, and Nate throws himself into it head first and for once Walt doesn’t complain about Nate over working himself.

  


Sometimes though, sometimes Nate can feel an acute panic bubbling up inside of him and it takes everything in him to keep his heart from exploding out of his chest and screaming. He hates it, this helpless feeling he gets and the randomness of attacks. Nate’s too old to feel this pathetic, to feel like he needs to hold his best friend’s hand so that he doesn’t break down crying. It’s bad enough that sometimes Nate finds himself wandering into Walt’s room in the middle of the night and curling up on top of his covers.

  


Walt is too good to say anything to Nate about the random, late night sleepovers. If he wakes up at all, he passes Nate a pillow and lets him take a corner of the blankets. Most of the time he just sleeps through it, rapidly becoming accustomed to the fact that Nate is in his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to have a panic attack. Nate would joke about Walt ignoring him, but he can’t. It’s good that at least one of them is getting some sleep.

  


It’s a start, though, and it’s better than nothing. Things are getting back to normal, and maybe it’s taking way longer than Nate wishes it would, but it’s getting there. Nate has to cling to the hope he won’t be like this forever or he might just fall apart for good, Walt’s quiet reassurances or not.

  
\- - -  


Nate’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom, staring at the fading bruises on his hips in his reflection when Walt walks in. It’s not completely unusual for the two of them to be in the bathroom at the same time when they’ve only got the one between the two of them, so Nate doesn’t even bat his eyelashes. He scoots over to give Walt room at the sink to run a comb through his hair and tries to remember when his next essay is due.

  


It takes Nate a minute to realize Walt is staring at him, amused quirk to his lips, and Nate stops trying to scrub at his molars. “Can I help you with something?” he asks, not bothering to spit out the foaming mess of toothpaste first. He brings his hand up to catch a dribble of it as it escapes the corner of his mouth, and Walt wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Do you have a date?”

  


”No,” Walt says, and Nate frowns, because it doesn’t explain why Walt’s got on what Gabe calls his seducing jeans and trying to manage the hectic mess of his hair. “We – “ he gestures between the two of them with his comb “ – are going to a party tonight. It’s Maria’s roommate’s birthday.”

  


”Do I even know Maria or her roommate?” Nate asks warily. He rubs at his teeth with his toothbrush idly before leaning forward to spit out his toothpaste. “I don’t want to go to a party,” he continues, turning on the faucet and cupping his hands under it to catch water, rinsing out his mouth. “I just put on my sweats. I want to go to bed.”

  


”We both know you aren’t actually going to sleep,” Walt counters. He puts down his comb and folds his arms over his chest, giving Nate a stern look. “You’re coming with me tonight.” His expression softens a little when Nate’s closes off, and Walt drops his hands. “Nate. Just come for a little while. Gabe will be there. It’ll be good for you. You won’t be alone.”

  


Nate clenches his jaw because he hates being treated like a child, like he doesn’t know what’s best for him. “I said I didn’t want to go,” he says, squeezing between Walt and the wall so he can leave the small bathroom, making his way for his room. “And I’m _fine_.”

  


”I swear to God, if you slam that door,” Walt starts, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. He follows Nate to his room, catching the door before Nate manages to push it closed in his face and invites himself inside. He ignores the glare Nate sends him and moves towards Nate’s closet, pulling it open and rifling through it. “We are going to a party. We are going to get a little drunk and hang out with friends and maybe at least one of us will get laid.”

  


Folding his arms over his chest, Nate glowers at Walt. “Did it ever occur to you – or Gabe – that maybe I don’t  _want_  to have sex?” Nate asks bitterly. He’s still got bruises around his wrists and hips, a faded bite mark on his shoulder, and Nate doubts they’ll be gone anytime soon.

  


Something twists tight in his stomach, but it’s not the fear of sex. He isn’t scared of the thought of having sex. He can think about it and yeah, maybe he’s missing out on something, but then he remembers Gabe’s hand on his ankle and that twisting feeling in Nate’s stomach intensifies and he can feel a panic attack edging on.

  


They didn’t hurt him, not in a bad way, not in a way he didn’t allow them to. Nate keeps telling himself this, because he knows what the bite on his neck and the bruises around his wrists make people think, make his parents and Walt think, but it wasn’t like that. Maybe Nate would have said no if the situation was different but maybe he wouldn’t have. In any other situation the appeal would have been thrilling, the sex fantastic.

  


He has to keep telling himself this because he can’t think of himself as any more of a victim than he already does. Nate isn’t weak. He doesn’t need to be coddled or taken care of or pitied, and he isn’t going to be able to prove that to anyone, let alone himself, if he thinks of himself as one.

  


”I’m sorry,” Walt starts, biting at his lip and looking at Nate with wide eyes. “I didn’t – “

  


”It’s fine,” Nate says, cutting Walt off before he can start. Of all the things they could talk about,  _that_  is the absolute last conversation Nate wants to have with anybody. He ignores the way Walt’s gaze drops to the bruises on his hips, ugly and dark against his pale, freckled skin. “Stop.”

  


”Sorry,” Walt says again, looking away from Nate quickly and staring into the expanse of his closet. There isn’t much in there, not to warrant the size of it, but Walt flips through everything with slow care. “I still think you should come with me tonight, though,” Walt continues, but his tone isn’t half as forceful.

  


Nate wants to tell him ‘no’, because going to a party is the absolute last thing he wants to do tonight, especially if he doesn’t know who it’s for or why they’re going. He doesn’t though, because it occurs to him that playing along and giving Walt what he wants might just be the fastest way to shut him up about this. Running his hands through his hair, Nate makes a frustrated sound. “Fine,” he says, giving in. “I’ll come along for an hour.”

  


There’s a triumphant little smirk on Walt’s face as soon as the words are out of Nate’s mouth and he searches through Nate’s closet with renewed vigor. “It’ll be fun,” he says, tugging a shirt out and tossing it to Nate. “One last free night to party before everyone cracks down to turn in their work on time and study for finals and hopefully not fail this final semester of college.”

  


Nate shakes his shirt out, sparing a glance to see just which one Walt tossed at him before he pulls it on. “And you score some brownie points with Mary by dragging out your moping roommate and going to her roommate’s party,” Nate adds, letting his voice trail off.

  


”Maria,” Walt corrects, and he passes Nate a pair of grey jeans. “These too,” he says as he hands them over. He makes his way over to Nate’s bad, collapsing back on it. He stares up at the ceiling while Nate changes, but it’s not really to give him any privacy. He’s seen Nate in less clothing, doing worse. “It’ll be fun.”

  


”Sure,” Nate says weakly as he pulls on his jeans and buttons them. They’re loose on his hips, and he wonders when he last wore them and how much weight he’s lost since then. He doesn’t feel like he’s lost weight. Sighing heavily, Nate rubs a hand over his face before mussing up his hair, tugging at the strands roughly. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

  


”That is the completely wrong attitude,” Walt says,  _tsk tsk tsk_ ing at Nate. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and eyes Nate, pursing his lips and making a thoughtful sound at whatever it is he sees. He stands up slowly, stretching languorously, before flashing Nate a grin. “Trust me, this is a good idea.”

  


Nate isn’t entirely sure he agrees with Walt or this logic, but he nods his head anyways. Anything to help Walt relax, to think he isn’t half as broken as he is. If worse comes to worst, he’ll stick around for an hour as promised and then just come home. It will probably be easier for Walt to impress Maria if Nate isn’t around, but he said he’d show, so Nate will do just that. At least for a little while, long enough to keep his word.

  
\- - -  


The party has already started by the time Walt and Nate show up. Maria and her roommate live in an apartment off campus, not too far from where Nate and Walt do, and the small space is crammed with people and music is blaring over the stereo system in the living room. They’re invited in by a girl Nate is pretty sure he had Algebra with his freshman year, but isn’t either of the girls who lives there. It feels like an omen of some sort, but Nate doesn’t know what it means.

  


He trails after Walt into the kitchen, trying to ignore the hot press of bodies and the obvious interest in the eyes of people he doesn’t know. He just wants to drink cheap beer out of a red cup and pretend like he’s in high school again, too young to be drinking but doing it anyway because Walt wants to and Nate can’t let Walt do anything on his own.

  


They’ve barely been at the party for five minutes and Nate is already debating the merits of cutting and running. He can hide out in the kitchen until Walt meanders off to talk to Maria and trade puppy dog eyes instead of flirting and then make a break for it as soon as Walt’s back is turned. The more Nate thinks about it, the better the idea sounds.

  


Walt is smarter than Nate gives him credit for, though, and frowns at Nate over the lip of his cup. He doesn’t say  _I know what you’re thinking and I do not approve_  but he doesn’t have to for it to be obvious it’s what he’s thinking. “One hour, Nate,” Walt reminds him gently. “You agreed to come for one hour.”

  


”I am definitely starting to regret that decision,” Nate mutters into his cup. He ignores the look Walt is giving him and takes a sip. He sighs, before looking at Walt proper. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not running away. I said I’ll stick around for an hour and I will.”

  


Nodding his head in approval, Walt takes a sip of his drink. “Good boy,” he says. “Can I trust you enough to leave you on your own, or do you want to hold my hand while I find Maria?”

  


The look Nate shoots Walt is withering but Walt just waves it off. “I am old enough to stay out of trouble on my own, thanks,” Nate says. “Also, you’re a dick.”

  


Walt just makes a vague sound, all  _What can you do?_ , before he downs the last of his beer and crushes his cup in his fist. He steps closer to Nate, touching his elbow lightly, and his expression turns serious. “I’m around if you need me. If you really want to go, we can. You don’t have to stay if you’re going to have another – “ He stops himself before he says ‘panic attack’, because he’s smart enough to figure out that Nate  _hates_  everything about those two words. “ – Just come find me.”

  


”I’ll be fine, Walt,” Nate says, shaking his head and side stepping away from Walt. “You don’t need to babysit me every minute of every day. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much.”

  


”I know that,” Walt says, and he almost looks hurt. “But I’m your best friend and you’re mine. It’s my job to worry about you and take care of you. Besides, I promised your mom I’d look after you and she’d skin my hide if you came home with so much a hair missing from your stupid little head.”

  


Nate rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his beer. It’s as effective a way of biting his tongue as any and it’s better than admitting any of the things sitting heavy on his chest right now. “Go find Maria before she thinks you didn’t show and doesn’t ever want to hold your hand.”

  


”Who said anything about hand holding in the near future?” Walt asks, quirking an eyebrow and putting his hands on his hips petulantly. It just serves to make Nate laugh, and Walt to grin at him, his cheeks tinging slightly. “Okay, shut up. We are not too old for me to bite you.”

  


Pointedly not thinking about the fading bite mark on the back of his neck and the uncomfortable heat that flares at the words, Nate shakes his head. “I think it would send across the wrong message to the girl you want to hold hands with if you bite another guy in her kitchen. Especially when everyone already knows  _my_  preferences. There were rumors about us, you know.”

  


”Believe me, I know,” Walt says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Completely unfounded and gross.” He holds up a hand when Nate opens his mouth to object. “You are my brother. I would rather cut off my dick than put it anywhere near you.”

  


”The feeling is mutual,” Nate assures him. He drains the last of his beer before putting the red cup on the counter. He turns to Walt and shoves at his chest lightly, pushing him back towards the party and where he inevitably has more friends who are better company and in more of a partying spirit than Nate. “Go find Maria before you lose your chance for good, Walt. I don’t want to hear you bitching about this later.”

  


”Yes, sir,” Walt says. He grins and snaps Nate a mock salute before he turns on his heels and leaves Nate alone – relatively speaking – in the kitchen. He maneuvers through the bodies in the living room easily, flashing grins and talking to people as he passes them, before he eventually stops in a corner, talking to someone Nate can’t quite make out.

  


Nate spares a look at his watch, willing for the minutes to tick by faster, so he can go home already. He doesn’t know how long he spends staring at the scratched surface, willing for the second hand to speed up, but suddenly there’s a touch to his hip and he’s nearly jumping out of his skin.

  


”Jesus, Nate,” someone says, and Gabe is staring at Nate with a concerned look when he turns around to see who touched him. It doesn’t do anything to stop the racing of his heart and Gabe almost looks guilty. “I don’t remember you ever startling this easy before.”

  


”It’s just been a long week,” Nate says, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “How have you been? Enjoying the party?” Nate takes a step back as he’s talking, moving until he bumps into a mostly clean section of counter and leans his ass against it, folding his arms over his chest and trying to force himself to relax.

  


Gabe moves forward with Nate, making a thoughtful sound. He isn’t quite standing between Nate’s legs, his palms resting on the counter of either side of Nate’s hips, but it’s a close thing. He’s got Nate trapped, but not enough that Nate couldn’t push past him if he wanted to, and Nate doesn’t know if that was intentional or not. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  


”I’m not avoiding you, Gabe,” Nate says. He drops his arms from his chest, covering Gabe’s hands with his own. “I graduate at the end of semester. I’ve just had a lot of work to do. And family drama to work through.”

  


The look Gabe is giving him makes it obvious he doesn’t believe a word out of Nate’s mouth. He shifts closer, marginally so, and Nate can feel something heavy in his stomach. “If you want to end the friends with benefits thing then just tell me. Just pretending this never happened isn’t going to make it go away. We tried that once, remember?”

  


Nate opens his mouth before closing it again. He has no idea what Gabe is talking about, except, when he thinks about it, he can kind of see where Gabe is coming from. It’s been over a month since they’ve fucked, the longest they’ve gone without since they agreed that occasionally getting drunk and feeling each other up then regretting it was stupid and they should do it regularly, sober and be okay with it.

  


Gabe takes Nate’s silence to mean that Nate does want to end it, though, and pulls his hands free from Nate and tries to step back. “I never thought you’d be such an asshole – “

  


Before he even knows what he’s doing, Nate is reaching forward and grabbing Gabe’s hips. He doesn’t tug him back forward, though he wants to, and he isn’t sure why. “I’m sorry,” he starts, ducking his head apologetically. “I didn’t - I’m not avoiding you. I don’t want to end this.”

  


”You’ve got a great way of showing it,” Gabe says, but he inches in closer, catching his weight on his palms again. “How’s your boyfriend back home going to take it when he finds out you’re still fucking around with your college friend?”

  


Nate blanches. “What?” He asks, staring at Gabe in confusion. “I don’t have a boyfriend anywhere.”

  


”So the person who left all the bites and bruises on your skin was, what, just some guy?” Gabe asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Your family was having issues and you were skipping out on them for the night to – oh God, please tell me you and Walt aren’t – “

  


”No!” Nate says vehemently. It should be funny, the accusation of sleeping with Walt after expressing his distaste at the thought not half an hour ago, but Nate can’t find the humor in it right now. “Walt and I are definitely not fucking. Just – no. There’s no one. This – “ he gestures at himself and hopes Gabe is smart enough to realize Nate means the marks “ – was a mistake. It’s not going to happen again.”

  


There’s a look of relief on Gabe’s face and he slips in close enough to lean against Nate’s chest, his cheek against Nate’s shoulder and breath warm on Nate’s throat. “Good,” he says softly, his voice almost lost to the sound of the party, “because I don’t think this would work if that’s what you were into these days. I always thought Walt would be seriously kinky like that, though.”

  


Nate  _hmm_ s softly and after a moment of indecision, wraps his arms around Gabe’s hips in a loose hug. They’re not usually this intimate when they’re still wearing clothes, and even then their relationship has always been about homework and sex. If Gabe is angling for sex, it’s certainly a new approach, but not one Nate can imagine will work.

  


Something is broken in Nate when it comes to sex these days. He’s got his fair share of porn on his laptop, of experiences with other boys he’s had classes with or met in bars, but unless Nate is digging his fingers into his bruises hard enough to hurt he can’t get off. It doesn’t matter what he starts off thinking about, his mind always wanders to fingers around his throat, fisted in his hair, the sharp bite of teeth and fingers pressed bruising tight against his hips.

  


The worst part is, Nate doesn’t want it. Nate has never been interested in sex like that. He likes sex with boys like Gabe, who like it slow and deep and sweet and moan so prettily when Nate fucks them. Sex isn’t supposed to hurt. And maybe Nate’s doing it all wrong by sleeping with Gabe when he doesn’t love him, doesn’t think he could ever love him as anything other than a friend, but Nate trusts Gabe. He trusts Gabe not to hurt him.

  


But, Nate thinks idly, it feels good to have Gabe in his arms, pressed against his chest. It’s nice having someone to just hold with no ulterior motives, someone who isn’t Walt or family. Nate could get used to this, he thinks, and maybe if he tries hard enough, he could love Gabe. Gabe’s a good person, he’s smart and funny and he’s the kind of guy Nate could bring home to his parents, maybe.

  


”Do you ever think we’re going about this the wrong way?” Nate asks Gabe softly, tightening his grip when Gabe tries to push away, and he smiles when Gabe tips his head up to frown at Nate. “I mean. This friends with benefits thing. Do you ever wonder – “

  


”Nate,” Gabe says softly, cutting him off. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who wanted to just be friends with benefits. Who thought we would butt heads way too much if we were anything more. And I want you to remember you’ve been treating me pretty crappily for the last few weeks and then think about the next words out of your mouth.”

  


There’s probably a point to Gabe’s words, but Nate isn’t entirely sure what it is. So maybe his decision to take this to the next step is rash. It never occurred to him that maybe Gabe wouldn’t want something more. They get along wonderfully. The sex is amazing. They’ve gotten to know each other pretty well in the last two years. Nate doesn’t understand why Gabe wouldn’t want to be more than just friends with benefits.

  


Unless Gabe doesn’t love Nate, either. Not in the way that matters, anyways.

  


The thought that Gabe doesn’t love him doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it probably should. Nate wonders if Gabe is as indifferent to Nate’s lack of affection as he is. He wonders if this is another one of those signs that he’s been ignoring all night, if it means if he should just shut his mouth and shut up while he’s still ahead.

  


”I just want to try,” Nate says softly, brushing his lips against Gabe’s temple. He knows that this is probably a bad idea, he doesn’t do well when it comes to dating but most of that has to do with his father’s influence or the fact that people assume he’s sleeping with Walt. If he tries, if they try, maybe he and Gabe could be happy together. If it doesn’t work, well, they’re graduating in a few months and won’t have to see each other ever again if they don’t want to. Nate tells Gabe this and smiles when Gabe laughs against his chest.

  


”Just so we’re on the same page here, you mean hand holding and dates with food and movies and making out on the couch when Walt isn’t around,” Gabe says, and this time when he pushes away, Nate lets him go. He doesn’t go far, just pushes far enough away from Nate to meet his eyes, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m going to assume you also mean no more late night bootie calls.”

  


”That last part could probably be negotiated,” Nate says, smiling softly. He holds onto Gabe’s hips and tries to imagine what it would be like to wake up to him, to be allowed to kiss him whenever and know it’s just the two of them, no more one night stands with men they meet in bars or boys from class. Nate can’t remember the last time he was in a committed relationship, but he had to have been in high school. It feels like a lifetime ago. “If you want things to stay how they are now, that’s fine, too.”

  


”I think my odds of getting laid will probably increase if I go along with this,” Gabe says. It doesn’t come across as harsh, but Nate still feels guilty. Gabe just looks thoughtful though, like he’s honestly considering this plan, and it’s a start. “Do you want to get out of here?” Gabe asks suddenly, and it’s not what Nate was expecting, but he can work with it. “I can’t hear myself think.”

  


”Lead the way,” Nate says, dropping his hands from Gabe’s hips and pushing himself up. He leans forward to steal a kiss, pressing his lips to the corner of Gabe’s mouth, and he can’t help but grin when Gabe looks startled and pleased. “I just gotta tell Walt first before he freaks out.”

  


”Right,” Gabe says, nodding his head before tipping it in the direction of the front door. “I’ll meet you by the stairs in a minute, then.”

  


This time, Nate doesn’t wait to be left alone in the kitchen. He walks behind Gabe, his fingers pressed to the small of Gabe’s back through his sweater and he thinks he could get used to this. Gabe keeps going for the door though and Nate has to maneuver through the bodies of people he’s never met to get to the corner where Walt has got his hands on a girl’s hips and is swaying with her lightly.

  


”Hi, Nate,” she says, and Nate thinks,  _This is Maria_. He knows her, though he can’t quite place why he knows her or from where, but she’s got a nice smile and Nate could see why Walt would be interested. Her words have Walt turning to look at him, his expression worried only for a second until he sees Nate’s okay.

  


”I’m really sorry, Maria, but I’ve gotta go,” Nate says, and Maria only looks a little put out at the words. Glancing at Walt, Nate flashes him a small smile. “Gabe and I are going to find somewhere a little more quiet to talk.”

  


”Right, talk,” Walt says, flashing Nate a cheeky little grin. It’s obvious that Walt doesn’t expect Nate and Gabe to do much talking, and Nate would correct him because he doesn’t have any intentions of sleeping with Gabe, but this is probably another one of those lies that Nate is going to have to tell so that Walt thinks he’s getting better. It’s for Walt’s own good. “Remember, common areas are no-go.”

  


”I’ll keep that in mind,” Nate says wryly. He touches Walt’s shoulder briefly, to reassure him that Nate really is okay, before flashing Maria another smile. “It was nice to see you,” he adds, because it’s polite, and then he’s pushing away from them and making his way back to the front door and to Gabe.

  


Gabe is waiting exactly where he said he would be, whistling something Nate recognizes but can’t name. He flashes Nate a grin when he sees him come close, offering out his hand. He looks at Nate expectantly and it takes Nate a second to realize that if they’re going to be dating, they should hold hands. He smiles softer when Nate takes his hand, and tugs him towards the staircase. “So where do you want to go?”

  


”You’re the one who asked me to ditch the party, shouldn’t you be the one with the grand master plan?” Nate asks. It feels weird to be holding Gabe’s hand, their fingers tangled together. He’s not used to holding hands. It’s not bad though, mostly just warm, and Nate squeezes Gabe’s hand lightly. “We could get a drink or something.”

  


”We just left a party full of free alcohol,” Gabe says, frowning. “We should have snagged a bottle or two when we left. What were we thinking?” He makes a frustrated sound, and Nate nods his head in agreement. He doesn’t say anything else until they push their way out through the doors into a parking lot and he asks, “Do you still smoke?”

  


”Sometimes,” Nate admits. “I don’t have any on me, if that’s what you’re asking.” He pats his pockets down quickly without letting go of Gabe’s hand, and manages to pull out a pink Bic. “I have this, though.”

  


”I thought you had a Zippo,” Gabe says. He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his hip pocket and pulls one out for himself, before offering the carton to Nate. He shrugs when Nate shakes his head, but he lets Nate flick the lighter on and light his cigarette for him.

  


”I did,” Nate says, shrugging weakly. “I lost in when I went home.” For the life of him, he can’t remember the last time he saw the silver Zippo. He just knows he had it when he and Walt were sneaking cigarettes after their welcome home dinner at Walt’s place. It didn’t occur to him to make sure he had it with him when he was packing to come back to school, though. “It’s probably in my room. Or one of my sisters stole it.”

  


”Claire smokes now, doesn’t she?” Gabe asks. He tips his head to the side, blowing smoke awake from Nate’s face. It’s an appreciated gesture, and there’s a lazy smile on Gabe’s face when he looks back at Nate. “She’s what, sixteen? Super rebellious. Probably picked up the bad habit from her brother.”

  


”She’s seventeen,” Nate corrects. He rubs a hand over his face idly, humming out a soft sound in thought. “She’s the reason I quit, sort of. My parents would skin me alive if they knew she was stealing her cigarettes from me.”

  


Gabe makes a humming sound in response, before tugging at Nate’s fingers and dragging him close enough to lean against his side, cheek resting against Nate’s shoulder as he smokes. “We could go back to your place and watch a movie or something,” Gabe suggests. “We don’t have to – “ Gabe rolls his hips slightly and waggles his eyebrows. “ – if you don’t want.”

  


Nate laughs softly, but it’s more out of relief than amusement. He smiles when Gabe smiles at him, and assumes Gabe thinks it was the former reason, but if it means he’s not going to press the issue than Nate isn’t going to correct him or complain. “That could be fun.”

  


”It beats standing out here waiting for something to happen,” Gabe replies. He takes one last drag from his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and crushing it under his heel. “Come on,” Gabe says, and he’s tugging at their still joined fingers, and Nate has no objections at all to being led away.

  
\- - -  


Nate wakes up alone on the living room floor. At first, he’s not sure what woke him up, but he can hear soft laughter coming from the kitchen as Gabe and Walt – Nate is sure, because he can’t think of who else would be in the apartment – try to stay quiet while he sleeps. He thinks Walt must not have gotten laid if he’s home already and it’s just past eight, and Nate wonders if this means he’d rather go slow with Maria and do this thing proper.

  


How weird it would be for both of them to start dating someone on the same night because of the same party. Not that it’d be bad, just weird. Nate doesn’t know if he and Walt have ever both had romantic interests at the same time.

  


”Are you going to stick around until Nate wakes up?” Walt asks, his voice soft, but it still carries through the apartment well enough. “I mean, now that you two are – “ he stops talking, probably to make a hand gesture “ – or whatever?”

  


”I probably should,” Gabe replies. He’s quiet for a moment, and so is Walt, and Nate has to strain his ears to hear anything beyond the soft clunk of one of the heavy coffee mugs against their shitty table. “This really isn’t my place, but, I’m worried. I mean, the nightmares.”

  


Walt sighs heavily and Nate wishes he could see his face and he prays to God Walt doesn’t tell Gabe anything. “Don’t mention them to him,” Walt says, which is a safe enough answer. “You know Nate. It fucks with him enough that he has them in the first place. It’s bad enough he knows I know about them and that his parents do. He doesn’t want people to think he’s weak or scared.”

  


”What happened to Nate, Walt?” Gabe asks, and he doesn’t just sound curious. He’s honestly worried about Nate. “Whatever he’s doing to get over it, it’s killing him. Coming back all banged up, too. You can’t tell me his dad – “

  


”We don’t talk about it,” Walt says, cutting Gabe short. It’s obvious from his tone that he means  _We aren’t going to talk about it_. “Nate just needs time to get over what happened. He’s gonna be okay. Just don’t worry about him or he’s going to be even more of a bitch.”

  


”I don’t know if you knew this, but  _everyone_  is worried about Nate,” Gabe replies. There’s a soft creaking and a heavy sigh. “I know you two are close because you grew up together, but the rest of us aren’t stupid. We know Nate well enough to when something is off.”

  


”Gabe, stop,” Walt says, and the easy tone of his voice is gone, replaced with something more serious. “Seriously. I know you and Nate are – whatever – and I’m fine with that. Really. As long as Nate is happy, I couldn’t care less if you two wore matching sweaters everywhere or built yourselves a kinky BDSM dungeon. You and me, we’re still friends. Just. Don’t. This isn’t something he’s ready to talk about with anyone.”

  


”So something did happen to him,” Gabe says, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes Nate’s skin crawl. He thinks, this is the point where he stops eavesdropping on his friends and rolls over, lets them know he’s awake, but before he can do that, Gabe continues with “he was raped, wasn’t he?” but it doesn’t sound like a question.

  


Something clenches tight in Nate’s stomach and he has to fight the urge to vomit, dry heave up everything inside of him. His brain screams  _no!_  because he wasn’t – he can’t bring himself to even think the word, but he knows that he wasn’t. He wasn’t coerced into making the offer, he doesn’t even regret it beyond the haunting of memories of warm hands all over his body, and anything is better than death.

  


Walt’s voice is so small and broken when he speaks, that the hurt inside of Nate just intensifies. “I think so, yeah.”

  


Nate wonders how hard this must be for Walt, to just sit back and watch as Nate falls apart even though he’s trying so hard to hold it all together. For Walt to think the worst of what could have happened to Nate and just sit back and bite his tongue because he knows Nate needs one person who didn’t press this. Walt probably feels like a shitty best friend and it’s all Nate’s fault.

  


”Jesus Christ,” Gabe breathes.

  


Nate’s had enough with pretending, listening to them talk about him in the other room. He sits up slowly and stretches, groaning loudly as the muscles in his back protest and his shoulders pop. He blinks at them when they both turn to stare, and they look like deer caught in the headlights. For a second, Nate debates letting them know he heard. He doesn’t want them to live with the same guilt he’s going to have over the conversation though, so he settles for lying.

  


It’s alarming how good Nate has got at lying in the last few weeks. He should be ashamed of himself, but he can’t work up the energy to do it.

  


”Hey,” Nate says softly. He pushes himself up onto his feet and stretches again, not as wide, and he smooths one hand over his stomach to tug his shirt back down to hide his bruises. There’s no point in pretending they’re not there, but he’d rather not be stared at because of them if he can help it.

  


”Hey,” Walt and Gabe both chime back at him. They share a look, something relieved and a little amused, before Walt pushes away from their rickety little table to fetch a mug and pour Nate a cup of coffee. It’s still hot when he hands it over, and Nate sighs heavily after his first sip.

  


”Didn’t hear you get back last night,” Nate says. He slips into a chair, angling it enough that he can smile at Gabe over his mug, and he hopes it just comes off as tired rather than strained. “You have fun at the party?”

  


”Last night was more like this morning,” Walt says. He glances at his watch, lips moving softly as he does mental math. “About three and a half hours ago. Stayed over with Maria. We, ah, slept in her roommate’s bed. We’ve got a date tonight.”

  


”No deal sealing on Walt’s side,” Gabe informs Nate, making a soft  _tsk-tsk-tsk_  sound under his breath. He slides his foot out until he bumps into Nate and he smiles tiredly. “You sleep okay?”

  


There’s something off about the question but Nate can’t quite place what. He stares blankly at Gabe and tries not to think about fists in his hair and fingers on his hips, forcing him down and bending him over the coffee table. “Eh,” Nate says, because ambiguity feels safer than trying to give Gabe the answer he wants. “You?”

  


”Next time we aim for making it to the bed,” Gabe replies. There’s a wry little smile on his face, though, so Nate just sips at his coffee again and lets the comment hang. Downing the last of his coffee, Gabe puts his mug on the table. “I should get going,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got work this afternoon and I want to shower and work on my essay before then.”

  


”Okay,” Walt says. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  


Gabe makes a vaguely affirmative sound before standing up. He lets Nate reach out and drag him forward by a belt loop, and he’s smart enough to pick up the fact Nate’s aiming for a kiss. It’s soft, barely a peck, because Walt is in the room and because Nate can’t work up the energy or enthusiasm for more than that. “I’ll call you,” Gabe says, tapping a finger to Nate’s nose softly. Then he’s pushing away and Nate is letting him go, making his way out of the apartment without a backwards glance.

  


Walt waits for the door to snick shut behind Gabe before he looks at Nate warily. “You heard every word of our conversation, didn’t you?”

  


Nate wonders if this is the part where he’s supposed to feel guilty for eavesdropping. Mostly, he just feels tired and achy from sleeping on the floor. Maybe the guilt is in him, somewhere, hiding in the same part of his body with the part of him that feels bad for lying to his friends and family. “Most of it.”

  


For a long moment, Walt is quiet, just staring into the depths of his coffee cup like it’ll have whatever answers he’s searching for. Eventually though, he sighs, and looks up at Nate. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about it.”

  


”Not really,” Nate says. He takes another sip from his mug before pushing it across the table towards Walt. “I’m going to go take a shower and go back to bed. I’m exhausted and sore.”

  


”Alrighty then,” Walt says, but he doesn’t push the issue. It’s obvious that he wants to in the thin press of his lips and the weariness of his eyes, and Nate wonders how much longer he has before Walt snaps and demands Nate talk to someone about this like his parents do.

  


Nate hesitates after he stands up for this very reason, looking down across the table and Walt and biting his lip. “I just need a little more time, Walt.”

  


”Okay,” Walt says, blinking up at Nate. His expression doesn’t soften much and he bites his lip. “Okay,” he says again, running his fingers through his hair. “You know I’m always going to be here for you when you are ready to talk, you know?”

  


Nate smiles softly. “I know.”

  
\- - -  


Gabe’s words plague Nate. It had never occurred to him that anyone would notice there was anything off about him, would catch a glimpse of the fading bruises on his wrists or the bite on his neck and think anything was wrong. These are people he goes to school with, people he’s friends with, but Nate’s never really considered how deeply that bond runs. It was inevitable for Gabe to worry, of this is Nate is sure, but for everyone else?

  


The problem is, now that Nate has this information, he doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know how to reassure everyone he’s fine because apparently throwing himself into work and pushing past his issues wasn’t cutting it. There isn’t an alternative solution here. Nate isn’t going to sit down and talk about his feelings, about what happened.

  


Nate is tired of people worrying about him. He’s tired of being treated like he’s going to blow up or break down at any moment. He’s not fragile and he definitely doesn’t need to be treated like he is. The last thing Nate wants is to be treated with kid gloves, for people to watch him with worried frowns and whisper behind his back.

  


The only thing Nate can see distracting attention away from himself and his apparent issues is the fact that they’re all graduating in two months. Surely, that’s enough for anyone to stop worrying about anyone else and focus on themselves, on writing essays and cramming for last minute tests so they can get all of their requirements out of the way.

  


It occurs to Nate in hindsight that maybe this wasn’t the best time to ask Gabe out, because they’re both going to be busy as fuck in these next few weeks. He had to take a chance though, if he wants to make things okay again. He doesn’t want to lose Gabe, as a friend or anything else. Nate’s sure Gabe can understand school related stress keeping them apart. Maybe.

  


Nate misses the days before his life was so complicated, where he didn’t have to lie to the people who matter most or have dreams about getting fucked in ways he doesn’t want no matter how much his body disagrees. When he was just Nate, who couldn’t keep a boyfriend to save his life and he didn’t know why, who sometimes worked himself to death and got nagged at by his best friend.

  


Granted, that last part is still true as Walt can be awfully fond of nagging sometimes, but the point still stands. Nate would give almost anything to go back to before Spring Break, to pick up an extra shift at work even though he was on vacation instead of going to the gym. Maybe things would have played out differently then.

  


Maybe.

  


But Nate knows better than to deal in  _what ifs_  and he isn’t about to let himself tumble down that spiral on top of everything else. It happened. He’s not going to get past it if he keeps avoiding it, as much as he is loathe to admit it, and he isn’t going to get better if he tries to think of all the ways he could have changed it, stopped it.

  


It feels like admitting defeat and that hurts almost as much as everything else does. Nate’s never been a sore loser, but this is his life and his soul spread out and being torn apart. It sucks. He doesn’t know any other way to describe it other than it  _seriously fucking sucks_.

  


Idly, Nate wonders if it’s too soon in the day to start drinking. It’s five o’clock somewhere, Nate is sure, but it’s usually Walt or Gabe pulling a line like that. Plus, Walt’s got a date tonight, and while Nate is sure Walt would get shitfaced with Nate if he thought it would really help him, Nate doesn’t want to drag Walt down with him and ruin both of their chances for happiness forever.

  


The obvious solution is to get drunk on his own, but Nate’s not quite sure he’s reached that level of pathetic yet. It doesn’t seem like a good idea, either, knowing his luck. Not that he assumes anyone is going to burst through his bedroom window and kidnap him again. It’s more that Nate hates being trapped alone with his thoughts as is, he can’t imagine the situation would be any better with alcohol pumping through his system.

  


Nate flops down onto his bed, spread out like a star on top of his covers and tries to calm the racing of his thoughts. He can’t drink, not alone, and he doesn’t feel like inviting Gabe over just to get drunk. He doesn’t want to fuck him, not really, but he thinks he probably could if the situation came up. Maybe. Walt will probably be out all night, assuming his date goes well. Then again, if he’s trying to do right by Maria and take it slow...

  


Nate’s been dealing with too many  _maybe_ s in his life recently. He really wishes that would stop. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath seems like the only good answer he’s got right now, but Nate is willing to start small. Anything to regain even a tiny bit of control in his life right now, that’s all he’s really asking for.

  


He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he doesn’t really object to the heaviness in his eyelids or the soreness of his body. He could probably use the rest, he thinks idly as he starts to drift off. Anything is better than laying here all alone and moping, anyway.

  


Nate dreams about being fucked, of being passed between two hot bodies and just being used. It isn’t any more graphic than usual, the hands in his hair, tugging roughly as he tries to give head and the way he feels like he’s being torn apart at the seams. He can hear the distant echo of praises  _So good, Nate, just like that, such a good boy_  drowning out the sound of his own begging for  _More, please, harder_. He doesn’t know what disturbs him more, the fact he’s having dreams like this in the first place or that his dream self is gagging for it.

  


It’s probably fucked up to dream about it, but not the people who did it to him. Nate tries to tell himself it has to do with the fact that the sex itself is what appeals to him and not – not them – because even weeks later, Nate can’t bring himself to so much as think either of their names. Like maybe if he avoids it long enough, it will all just be a bad dream and he can forget.

  


Except, unless he’s got a dream within a dream situation, he isn’t going to just forget. He can ignore certain details, yes, but there is a part of him that seems pretty hung up on being held down and fucked until he’s hoarse from it. Because as much as Nate tries to convince himself he doesn’t want to be fucked so hard he can’t move for weeks, he can’t seem to move past the thought.

  


This is a problem that should have an easy enough solution though, Nate thinks idly. He just needs to get laid, remind his body what it likes – what it’s always liked – and this desire will go away. His bruises are fading and they’ll be gone soon enough, the need to press his nails into them just to get off will go away with them, Nate is sure.

  


Nate doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he’s flicking a thumb over his nipple and letting out a heavy sigh. He’s still hard from dreaming, though not as much as he was, and Nate thinks he should be grateful he’s not coming all over himself while he sleeps like he’s twelve. Still, it doesn’t take much to get his nipple to bead up under the light scrape of his nail and Nate thinks he’s fucked up for doing this, riding off that high and trying to convince his body he knows better than it, but then he’s dragging the heel of his hand across the fly of his jeans and it feels too good against his cock for him to actually care about the reasoning.

  


He doesn’t usually take the time to do this, to turn himself on, not when Walt’s home anyways. But, as Nate sucks on a finger before teasing it around his nipple, trying to think of a hot mouth getting it slick instead, Nate thinks if Walt stumbles upon this than it’s Walt’s fault for not knocking. Nate’s enjoying the thought of teeth scraping lightly against his nipple while he flicks it with his nail too much to care about Walt right now. Walt is a decidedly unsexy thought and needs to be banished now.

  


It’s not hard to do when Nate’s been with enough people, has a good enough imagination to think about who and what he wants more. Like Gabe, with his pretty eyes and the smug little smile he gets when he kisses his way down Nate’s stomach, taking his time because he knows it’s the easiest way to set Nate on edge.

  


Nate thinks about soft kisses to his stomach, dropping his hand from his chest to struggle with the belt on his jeans, the button and the zipper, until he can lift his ass up and shove them down his thighs along with his shorts. He licks a broad stripe across his palm, slicking it up with spit before he curls his fingers around his cock and starts to jack it off slowly.

  


There is no endpoint in mind, Nate tries to tell himself. It’s hard to keep his mind blank, to just focus on the low burn of friction as he strokes himself and the way his toes curl when he rubs his palm over the head, smearing precome to ease the movements of his hand. It’s just this, nothing more, no bruises to be pressed or rough desires to be entertained.

  


Just the thought of Gabe’s hot mouth pressing kisses along the underside of his cock, sucking a kiss just under the head before laving his tongue along the slit. Nate rubs his thumb over the head and drags back his foreskin. He tries to remember what it feels like to have Gabe sucking on it, his tongue wet and gliding in a too light touch. He thinks about Gabe swallowing more of him down, never near enough to be deep throating him, but enough for Nate to groan and want  _more_.

  


Nate starts to jack himself off again in earnest, his fist tight and twisting on the upstroke. He drops his other hand down to fondle his balls, spreading his thighs as wide as he can with his jeans still trapping him, rolling them gently between his fingers before squeezing lightly.

  


It should be working. He should be coming all over his fist with a strangled groan but for whatever reason Nate’s not coming anywhere close to getting off. He’s reached the point where he’s just hard enough that if he stops he’ll be blue balled but thinking about Gabe’s mouth isn’t going to cut it.

  


He tries to think about Gabe, just Gabe, naked and riding him, balancing himself on Nate’s chest with one palm while he jerks himself off with the other. He moans so wonderfully, head tipped back, his eyes closed and lips parted. Nate thinks about the way he slides so deep into Gabe, slow and easy, and the way Gabe clenches around him, so hot and slick and perfect.

  


When that doesn’t work, Nate tries to think of something else, anyone else. The blond from his Econ class, spread out beneath Nate, clinging to his shoulders and moaning while Nate fucks him slowly. The German exchange student against the counter, speaking a language Nate didn’t understand but urging him on with his fingers and lips.

  


Nate digs his nails into his thighs in frustration, letting his head thump back against his pillow. He makes an angry sound, because he needs this, he needs to get off now, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious he can’t. He can’t do this forever though, not without hurting himself and getting friction burn or worse.

  


It’s not on purpose Nate presses his fingers into one of the yellow bruises on his hip and he doesn’t even realize he’s done it until he’s digging his nails in and that’s a low stab of pain. He gasps, arching his hip up to feel more, and it goes straight to his cock.  _No_ , Nate thinks frantically,  _no no no no no_ , but the damage is already done.

  


Biting his lip, Nate gives in. He thinks about the bruises on his hip, the way they ache so good when he wakes up first thing in the morning and he’s hard in his shorts. He thinks about sharp little nails pressing into his skin, pushing him down and holding his hips in place as he gets fucked open, long hard thrusts that have him scrambling to find something to hold onto, to push back for more.

  


Nate brings his hand up long enough to lick it again, ignoring the bitter taste of precome before he starts to jerk himself off with quicker, rougher strokes. It’s easier, better, and Nate loses himself to the thought of having a cock in his ass, forcing it’s way deeper with every thrust until Nate’s sure he’s going to shatter apart into a million little pieces at the next slam of hips.

  


He touches his fingers to his jaw, his lips, thinking about what it would feel like to have another cock rubbing against him here, pushing inside and sliding slick against his tongue before nudging its way to the back of his throat. He imagines choking on it as it fucks in deep, fists tangled in his hair to keep him from pulling away, but Nate wouldn’t even if he could. He sucks on his fingers, desperate and sloppy, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

  


Before Nate even knows it’s happening, he’s rocking his hips up to meet his fist with a rough shove and coming with a bitten off cry. He can feel his body go taut as his cock pulses, reveling in the thought of being held in place between two strong bodies and cocks, used and filled. He’s covered in his own come, whining softly around the fingers in his mouth as he tries to catch his breath.

  


The only cognitive thought that Nate can form in his head as he crashes down from his post-orgasmic high is that he is completely and utterly screwed.

  
\- - -  


Walt doesn’t knock when he opens Nate’s door, poking his head in to make sure Nate’s still alive. And Nate is. He’s buried under pillows and blankets and wondering if he can smother the shame out of himself, but he’s definitely still alive. Nate’s starting to get the feeling nothing is going to get rid of these thoughts and feelings inside of him.

  


Apparantly Walt can’t see the war that’s waging inside of Nate or the black pit of self-deprecation, because as soon as he realizes Nate is decent enough, he’s pushing the door open wide enough to lean his hip against the jamb. “I’m about to head out with Maria.”

  


Nate tips his head to the side enough to look at Walt blearily. He means to say  _have fun_ , but somehow the moment he opens his mouth, the words “I think I’m broken” spill out instead.

  


Walt hesitates, frowning. He looks at Nate with big blue eyes, the worry obvious, and he runs his hand slowly through his hair. “Do you want to talk about this, then?” He asks, moving closer into the room to sit on the edge of Nate’s bed. “I can rain check with Maria.”

  


”No,” Nate says, shaking his head. He rolls onto his back to stare forlornly up at the ceiling. “You need to go out with Maria. I’m just. God, I’m an idiot. And a mess. I don’t know why you put up with me, Walt. I don’t deserve you.”

  


”I will agree that you’re an idiot,” Walt says. He reaches for Nate, poking his cheek lightly. “Hey,” he says, softer. “Nate. You’ve been putting up with my shit for years. Don’t you ever think you don’t deserve me. You’re my best friend. My brother. I’m always going to be here for you.”

  


Nate bats Walt’s hand away tiredly, and sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m tired of being broken, Walt.”

  


”We’ll work on it,” Walt says. He looks like he wants to touch Nate again, but doesn’t, and he settles for toying with the hem of a plaid shirt Nate thinks might actually belong to him. “You’re going to get past this. You’re strong, Nate.”

  


”And now we start with the clichés,” Nate mutters. He silences Walt with a look when he starts to object. He tries to smile weakly. “Don’t worry about it,” Nate says, eventually. “You’ve got a date. I can survive spending one night on my own.”

  


”Sometimes I’m not too sure about that,” Walt says, but he’s pushing off Nate’s bed all the same. “I’ll pick up some Jack or something on the way home. If you still feel like shit, we can get drunk and play Mario Kart pantsless or something.”

  


”It’s a date, then,” Nate says wryly, and he smiles when Walt lets out a laugh. “Go, have fun with your lady friend,” Nate says, reaching out with his foot to nudge Walt’s thigh. “Leave me alone to have a relationship with my bed.”

  


”I think your bed would prefer a threesome,” Walt says, but he stumbles away when Nate shoves at him again. “Stay out of trouble when I’m gone,” he adds seriously, but there’s a smile on his face.

  


Then Walt is gone and Nate is alone and somehow, Nate doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would or thinks he should.  _It’s just a few hours_ , he tells himself. He can keep himself entertained until then.


	7. Nate

The first step to overcoming a problem is to admit you have one in the first place. Nate’s pretty sure that’s part of the Alcoholics Anonymous code, or something, but he thinks it’s applicable in his own situation. And honestly, Nate is willing to do anything if it means putting this behind him.

  


So, Nate has a problem, and his problem is that he wants to get pushed around a little, bruised up and fucked hard until he’s too sore to breathe, let alone move. Only, admitting it doesn’t make him feel any better, and he has to double check to make sure Walt hasn’t come back from his morning lab before he says the words aloud.

  


It still doesn’t make him feel any better and Nate thinks it might be time to move onto phase two of this plan. He mentally debates the pros and cons of doing this on the couch versus doing it in the privacy of his room, but he thinks it’ll be easier to resist the temptation to jerk off if he has to do it in front of photos of his family and Walt’s. Of course, there’s also the added bonus of Walt being an instant boner killer if he walks in.

  


Not that Nate plans on getting off during this. This is just a simple experiment. He doesn’t think he’ll need these precautions, but it’s better to have them then to be struck without. Or, something like that, in theory.

  


Sucking in a deep breath, Nate flips open the lid of his laptop and waits for it to boot up. He has to resist the urge to check his e-mail, because he can do it on his phone at any time and because it would just be an excuse to kill time. He doesn’t know why he’s so hesitant to click open the folder he stashes his porn in. He knows the video and images, has used them to get off enough times in the past to know they’ll work.

  


He clicks open one of the files and slumps back onto the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. He’s got his speakers down low, to minimize embarrassment if Walt walks in early, and the cheap porno music plays softly over the tinny speakers. The set is hideous and nothing matches, the bedspread almost enough to kill with its clash of colors, but the men are pretty and pale and Nate can feel a low spike of interest in his veins.

  


Nate watches the video through its entirety, rubbing himself through his sweats, but it’s not enough. The men are young and flexible and they fit and move together in a way that used to get Nate off so quickly, but his interest is waning by the time they rock towards completion. Even thumbing the volume up to listen to their moans isn’t doing it for Nate.

  


He’s determined to make this work though, to get his body back on the same page as he is, and so Nate clicks open another video, something shorter and grittier. The moaning is louder, forced and obscene, but it goes straight to Nate’s cock. He slips his hand down his sweats and boxers to work himself up, biting his lip as he listens to the rough slap of hips as the porn plays on his laptop.

  


And Nate knows without even trying, that the rest of the videos he has saved to his hard drive aren’t going to get him any closer to coming than he is already. He doesn’t bother sitting through the video he’s got open, not when the fear of being caught is a constant hum under the surface of his skin. He just clicks open his internet browser and drops down his browsing history to select a site that he knows will be as close as he’s going to get what he wants.

  


It’s odd, clicking through pages of videos. The banner has  _fetish_  in a pretty script, and it makes something twist in Nate’s stomach. This isn’t want he wants, he knows that just from the reaction he’s getting from the word, but somehow he can’t bring himself to close the tab. There’s something about the thought of seeing these people tied up with intricate knots and bindings that holds Nate’s attention.

  


He gives up on searching through the archive to find anything without women before he settles on something where at least the man is tied up. The knots are simple but constricting, dark leather against pale skin and Nate thinks, he could never let that happen to himself. He doesn’t trust anyone enough to tie him up.

  


It should be a sure a sign as any that clearly this isn’t what Nate wants in his sex life right now. He doesn’t want to have a beautiful woman – or man, because Nate has his preferences – wearing tight leather to flog his ass, to fuck him so hard he’s screaming around the gag in his mouth. Nate absolutely doesn’t think about what it would be like to be in that position, helpless and vulnerable and begging for more.

  


The fact Nate comes all over his fingers before he even manages to get his sweats down his thighs is irrelevant. It’s a fluke, a one off chance, Nate starts to tell himself. But then, lying to himself about it defeats the purpose of this exercise in admitting he has a problem in the first place.

  


Nate lets his head thump back against the back of the couch, cursing under his breath. So, he’s definitely got a problem, then. The next issue, and the more pressing concern, is that Nate has no idea how to fix this. He stays like that for a while, ignoring the hum of his laptop as the video continues to play, but no matter how much he rakes his brain for ideas, he can’t find a solution for this.

  


Nate is seriously screwed, he thinks belatedly. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to get better if he can’t move past this, but he hopes to God he figures it out soon because he doesn’t know how he can live like this forever.

  
\- - -  


It’s never been an uncommon thing for Gabe to be around the apartment, lounging around on the couch watching movies or with a highlighter tucked behind his ear as he studies with Nate and Walt and some of their other friends for rapidly approaching finals. It used to be he spent most of his time naked and in bed with Nate, but beyond the occasional soft kiss or lazy make out session, they don’t spend a lot of time in that kind of contact.

  


Nate would feel bad for Gabe’s constant presence, but Walt just waves it off because he’s used to Gabe and he doesn’t care. Besides, between classes and Maria, Walt doesn’t spend as much time at the apartment as he used to. It’s weird, this separation between Nate and Walt. He can’t remember the last time they were both seeing someone at the same time. It kind of sucks, if Nate’s honest. Not that he’s not happy for Walt, Nate just – misses him, maybe.

  


”You’re moping again,” Gabe says, snapping Nate out of his reverie. He’s got a pen tucked behind his ear, but it’s the morning crossword spread out in front of him, and he flashes Nate a small smile over the top of his cup.

  


Nate stops tapping at his laptop keyboard to side-eye Gabe. He doesn’t know if Gabe knows what he’s thinking about, that Walt is depressingly absent from his chair on the opposite end of the small table from Nate, or if Nate’s lack of enthusiasm is somehow measurable by the way he types, but he doesn’t like it. “I’m not moping.”

  


”You’re moping,” Gabe says. He takes another sip of his coffee and reaches out to rub his toes against Nate’s ankle lightly. “I swear to God, most of the time it’s like I’m dating someone with two wives.”

  


That startless Nate, and he looks over at Gabe proper. “Wait, why do I have two wives?”

  


Gabe holds up one finger, and slowly says, “school”. Which, Nate is in complete agreement with, because he does spend a lot of time focused on school, but in his defense he’s graduating in a few weeks. He has a lot of work to get done still. Gabe holds up a second finger. “Walt.” Which, okay, might also be true.

  


Nate bites his tongue instead of admitting any of these things though and taps a finger against Gabe’s crossword. “Sixteen across is Mesopotamia,” he says, turning his attention back to his laptop and tapping at his keys idly. When Gabe just makes a confused sound, Nate spares him a look. “Eleven letter word for the cradle of civilization. Mesopotamia.”

  


”I don’t even – “ Gabe starts. He makes a small sound and runs his fingers through his hair, bored, maybe, and he nudges Nate’s shin with his toes. “Let’s go do something or get dinner or – “ he doesn’t say  _leave the apartment and join the land of the living again_ , but Nate is pretty sure it’s implied. “Nate. We’ve been dating for two weeks and we haven’t gone out once.”

  


The guilt kicks in instantly, which was probably what Gabe was aiming for in the first place. Nate should probably be annoyed at Gabe or himself for being manipulated so easily, but he can’t quite work up the energy. He looks between Gabe and his laptop, then back at Gabe. “I’m maybe two paragraphs from finishing this.”

  


”Ten minutes,” Gabe says, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. “Ten minutes and I am leaving to get food with or without you. I’m not coming back if you don’t go and you can spend the night alone and miserable.”

  


”I can work with that,” Nate says, flashing Gabe a weak smile. “Just sit there and look pretty for ten minutes and then we can go get dinner.” He grins when Gabe makes an indignant sound, but he keeps his attention on his laptop. He glances over when he hears the scratch of pen on paper long enough to see Gabe scrawl  _MESOPOTAMIA_  messily into his crossword. Smiling to himself, Nate bites his lower lip and goes back to typing.

  
\- - -  


The thing is, Nate doesn’t really know how to date people. He knows how it works, in theory. The movies and dinners and small talk, but he’s never really met anyone he was willing to do all of that with time and time again. It’s not that he isn’t comfortable with anyone, or he doesn’t enjoy their company, but he’s never been with someone where he honestly wanted to make an effort and do the right thing by them.

  


It’s kind of where the original agreement with Gabe came around. It was easy to slip into that kind of relationship with Gabe, when they already knew and trusted each other. Gabe has always been good to Nate, never pushed him or tried to make more out of what they were doing then there was to make. They were just two friends who could be lazy when it came to finding someone they wanted to fuck.

  


It’s hard to remind himself that that’s not what he and Gabe are doing anymore. Before, if one of them wanted something, they just outright asked. There was never any need to be coy or flirt, they weren’t in it for that. Now, Nate has to remember that he has to take an interest in Gabe outside the scope of friendship, that he can’t just ignore Gabe for a few minutes or hours (or days) and expect things to be better.

  


Nate suddenly remembers why he doesn’t like to date people. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do right by Gabe, to make him happy and spoil him. He’s just waiting for something he’s starting to think is never going to happen and it sucks. Nate wants to fall in love. He wants to be with someone and have it mean more than just release. Gabe is never going to give Nate that, no matter how hard they try.

  


It isn’t any sort of revelation. It doesn’t punch Nate in the gut or make his heart pang in his chest. He’s barely gotten through his sweet and sour chicken, tapping his fork against his plate in time with the annoying pop music playing on the restaurant’s radio, and it just kind of occurs to him.

  


The only part that comes as any sort of shock is that Nate really doesn’t even want to try. Gabe has done nothing out of the ordinary, nothing wrong or that makes Nate want to put his foot down and storm off. Nate just can’t bring himself to care any more about Gabe now than he did before.

  


Judging by the way Gabe is looking at Nate over his own dinner, Nate thinks he might have come to the same conclusion. There’s just no – no  _spark_ , or whatever they call it in those stupid romantic comedies he used to have to watch with his mom and his sisters – and there won’t be. There can’t, not between the two of them.

  


Later, when Nate’s done paying for dinner and Gabe is standing outside with a smoke, he apologizes. He doesn’t specify for what, and he watches as Gabe just shrugs his shoulders lazily,  _what can you do?_  He remembers in a high school, a girl told him once it doesn’t count as breaking up if you’ve been dating for two weeks or less, because it’s like a trial period. He wonders why that thought occurs to him now, and how he’s going to do this.

  


”Don’t,” Gabe says when Nate opens his mouth. He reaches up to touch Nate’s lips with a finger, silencing him when he starts to protest. “I don’t want to have this talk here. Let’s go back to your apartment, first.”

  


”Okay,” Nate says, and he waits for Gabe to crush his cigarette under his boot before they start the walk back to Nate’s apartment. It’s only a few blocks away and it’s only a little chilly, but for all the few inches of distance between them where even their elbows don’t touch, Nate feels like he’s freezing.

  


They don’t talk and the silence is oppressive, condemning in a way that makes something twist tight in Nate’s stomach. It’s hard to move forward when he knows exactly the kind of conversation is waiting for him as soon as he gets inside, but he needs to get this over with before the guilt gnaws at him from the inside even worse than it already is.

  


Their footsteps echo in the stairway as they make their way up to the apartment Nate shares with Walt, Nate’s sneakers scuffing on the floor loudly when he stumbles over his shoelace. He shoots a look to Gabe, daring him to laugh, but Gabe just holds his hands up in front of him and smiles.

  


It helps to ease some of the tension between them, but it doesn’t last long. As soon as Nate’s unlocking the door to the apartment and holding it open to let Gabe in first, the feeling is back. He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of his couch. “We should probably talk.”

  


”I want you to do me a favor,” Gabe says, cutting Nate off. He doesn’t look at Nate when he speaks, shrugging off his own coat and laying it on top of Nate’s, before he ducks down to unlace his boots. “Just one favor.”

  


Nate watches Gabe as he toes off his boots, frowning. It’s clear Gabe has no intention of leaving right now, but Nate can’t think why Gabe would possibly stick around after. Unless this is no different from before, just another break from friendship to relive tensions and frustrations before they’re back to drinking beer and watching  _Mythbusters_. “What do you want me to do?” Nate asks when his curiosity finally wins out.

  


”Fuck me,” Gabe says. He finally turns to look at Nate, and at first think it’s just an interjection to something he missed, but Gabe’s fingers are pushing the buttons through their holes on his over shirt and he looks dead serious. “One last time, just so we know if it’s better to call it quits on dating or altogether.”

  


Nate thinks he knows the answer to that question, but he’s not going to tell it to Gabe. He’s not ready to admit his – his problem – to anyone just yet. It’s hard enough admitting it to himself most of the time. He just watches Gabe as he strips slowly and Nate thinks he owes it to Gabe to do this. He owes it to himself. This is his last chance at proving that he’s not some twisted and depraved sex freak.

  


Running his fingers through his hair slowly, messing it up, Nate tries to think. He should say  _no_ , stop this before they both do something they regret. It’s like they’re at the beginning again, when they’ve both had too much to drink and they can’t keep their hands to themselves. They knew better than to touch, knew they would regret it, but it still never stopped them. Nate needed so much more back then. He still needs, just differently now.

  


Letting out a deep breath and licking his lips, Nate nods. “Okay,” he says, reaching for the hem of his shirt to tug it up and off. “Let’s do this.”

  
\- - -  


They make it to Nate’s bedroom before they lose all of their clothes, stripping as they go and letting their clothes stay where they fall. They tumble onto Nate’s bed, pressed tight together, fingers roaming over naked skin. Nate presses kisses to Gabe’s cheek, his jaw, nipping at his ear before scraping his teeth over Gabe’s jaw. He pointedly avoids Gabe’s mouth, and Gabe doesn’t stop him, tipping his head to the side to give Nate more room to work.

  


It feels good to be with another person like this again. Nate’s missed the way Gabe’s fingers feel on his back, nails scratching lightly down his spine before he grabs Nate’s ass and tries to drag him in closer. He fits easily in the space between Gabe’s thighs, their cocks rubbing together as they both roll their hips. It’s good, enough for him to swell as they move, and Nate thinks he can do this.

  


There’s a familiarity in this that Nate is going to miss. He knows Gabe, the spot under his jaw where he likes when Nate sucks, how to twist his fingers when he’s jerking him off and when to crook them inside of him to get Gabe to whimper. Nate knows how much time to spend slicking him up, from the first finger to the third, and he waits for the hitch of breath that means Gabe is tired of waiting.

  


They move together slowly at first, Gabe’s thighs clenched tight around Nate’s hips and Nate holding himself up on his elbows. It doesn’t give them much room to move, to go harder or faster or deeper, but Nate doesn’t complain, because this is what Gabe wants.  _This is goodbye_ , he thinks, and he wants it to be good for Gabe.

  


Eventually, Gabe breaks, asks for more. Nate pushes himself away from Gabe, grabbing his hips and fucking into him harder. Gabe hitches his legs higher around Nate’s waist, his ankles hooked behind Nate’s back and it’s good. It’s nothing like what Nate wants done to him, but he can give this to Gabe. He thrusts into Gabe easily, sliding deep from the angle and hitting his prostate on every thrust.

  


Gabe comes with a low moan, working his cock with one fist and digging his nails into Nate’s shoulder with the other. He goes taut, clenching tight around Nate and it’s not what Nate wants, but it’s enough for him to come as well, rocking into him as Gabe tenses up and not stopping even after he relaxes. It’s weak, barely enough to take his breath away, but Gabe is trembling beneath him and Nate’s just glad one of them enjoyed this.

  


He pulls out slowly, tying off his condom and tossing it in the trashcan by his desk before he grabs some tissues from his drawer. Nate wipes himself off and tosses the box to Gabe, collapsing on his bed and watching the seconds tick by on his alarm clock instead of Gabe as he cleans himself up.

  


”I guess that’s that, then,” Gabe says, pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking at Nate. He’s relaxed, completely at ease with his nakedness, and Nate remembers how he used to think Gabe was beautiful spread out on his bedspread. He still does, but it doesn’t give him the same warm feeling. “I should go.”

  


”You don’t have to,” Nate objects, turning to look at Gabe. “I’m sorry, I was just – “

  


”Nate, it’s fine,” Gabe says, and then he’s pushing himself up off the bed and searching for his clothes. “We should both be studying for finals and writing papers anyways. It was fun while it lasted but we both knew it was going to happen.”

  


Biting his tongue, Nate flops back uselessly on his bed and stares at the ceiling. “All the same, I’m sorry,” he says, closing his eyes. “I’ve been a terrible friend to you. You deserve better.”

  


”That I won’t deny,” Gabe agrees with a smile. He pulls on his jeans and makes his way back over to the bed, getting one knee on the mattress and catching his weight with a palm by Nate’s head. He’s half on top of Nate like this, his face mostly shadowed, and his fingers are soft when they touch Nate’s jaw. “Hey. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. You’ll never hear me complaining, though.”

  


”So we’re over for good then?” Nate asks softly. He forces himself to meet Gabe’s eyes, and he isn’t surprised that Gabe doesn’t have to say a single word for Nate to know that they are. He reaches up to touch Gabe’s hip lightly, stroking his fingers along the bone slowly. “I’ll see you in class.”

  


”Yeah,” Gabe says. He pushes away from Nate slowly, letting his eyes linger on Nate’s body as he backs away. “You should probably pick up the rest of your clothes before Walt gets back and has a hissy fit.” He steps out of the room, gathering up his clothes and getting dressed as he goes, not waiting for Nate to join him or obey.

  


Then Gabe leaves and Nate is all alone, spread out naked on his bed and feeling worse than he has in weeks. He wonders how he let his life spiral so far out of control and if he could have stopped it if he tried. He thinks,  _This is the end_  and he should be more upset than he is.

  


Closing his eyes, Nate thinks, in reality, this almost feels like a beginning.

  
\- - -  


Nate doesn’t get out of bed until much later, when he hears the door unlatch and Walt stumbles in, talking in hushed whispers on his phone. Nate can’t make out what he’s saying, can’t even tell the intent or his tone, but if Walt’s back already it means he’s been spending way too goddamn long in his bed feeling sorry for himself.

  


He rolls over slowly, peering over the edge of his bed until he can find where he left his jeans. They’re clear on the other side of the room, which means he can’t quite reach them. He debates just fetching them, but his door is mostly open, and he and Walt are usually very good about the not spending more time completely exposed in the presence of each other than they strictly need to thing.

  


Tugging his sheet loose, Nate wraps it around his hips idly before he rolls over the edge of the bed and makes his way towards his jeans. He waves his hand in a vague greeting when he sees Walt look up at him, but he doesn’t bother to move to close his door. He just moves far enough out of the way to drop his sheet and tug his jeans on, tugging up the zipper and button but ignoring his belt altogether.

  


By the time Nate makes it into the living room, Walt has gotten off the phone and is staring at it forlornly. “I am seriously hoping your night went better than mine,” Walt says without look up at Nate. He turns his phone over in his hand and pockets it.

  


”Gabe and I broke up,” Nate replies. He flops back down onto the couch at Walt’s side, stretching out and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. He squirms until he can melt into the cushions, tipping his head to the side to look at Walt. “Did you and Maria break up?”

  


”No,” Walt says, shaking his head slightly. “I think you win.”

  


”I think I win, too,” Nate agrees. He doesn’t say anything when Walt slumps against his shoulder, using Nate as a pillow. Nate just pats Walt’s thigh lightly and makes a thoughtful noise. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  


”Maria’s a nice girl,” Walt says. He stretches and squirms, moving until he can settle more comfortably against Nate’s side and closes his eyes. “I just can’t seem to balance having a girlfriend and all my classes this close to graduating. In hindsight, not my smartest move ever romantically.”

  


Nate hums in agreement and pats Walt’s thigh again. “Is she graduating this year, too? You could try telling her that maybe you guys should spend a little less time with each other so she doesn’t wind up dating a college dropout?”

  


”Fuck you,” Walt says, pinching Nate’s side. It hurts enough to startle a sound out of him and he tries to move away from Walt’s touch, but Walt drops his hand. “I’ve worked too hard to dropout now. Though, with all these student loans…” He lets his voice trail off wistfully before sighing. “She’s a year younger. She’ll graduate next year.”

  


”Yeah…” Nate says, letting his voice trail off.

  


”Why’d you and Gabe break up?” Walt asks, rubbing his cheek against Nate’s shoulder and closing his eyes. He sighs heavily, comfortable. “If you want to talk about it, I mean. I know how you are about not wanting to talk about anything ever.”

  


Nate thinks he should be offended or something, but he can’t work up the energy. Instead he just shrugs a shoulder weakly, the one Walt isn’t resting against, because it’s easier than answering. When it becomes obvious Walt is expecting Nate to say something, he clears his throat. “You know, so close to graduating, starting a relationship with someone wasn’t the best idea ever. I’ve got enough to deal with. I think we’re still friends.”

  


”Do you want to get drunk?” Walt asks softly. “I think we should still have some UV Cherry in the fridge from Thanksgiving or something. I hate that stuff, but we’ve got to drink it at some point.”

  


”Right now, all I want to do is sleep,” Nate replies tiredly. “The self-pity drinking party can wait until the morning.”

  


”I can get behind this plan,” Walt says, yawning widely. He doesn’t move to get off the couch, content enough to sleep pressed against Nate’s side and using his shoulder as a pillow. Walt is warm and comfortable enough, so Nate doesn’t bother fighting it. He just yawns and closes his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep on the couch with Walt.

  
\- - -  


It’s easy to forget that he’s supposed to be heartbroken, or at least hurt even a little bit about splitting up with Gabe. Nate has classes to go to and essays to write and more importantly, finals to study for. He still sees Gabe, sometimes, still smiles at him across the table, but Gabe looks as stressed as Nate does as the end of term rapidly approaches.

  


Nate doesn’t have time for anything that isn’t directly related to schoolwork right now. He isn’t entirely sure how Walt can manage all of this and seeing Maria two or three nights a week, but Walt is starting to look a little ragged around the edges and Nate wonders when he’s supposed to tell Walt to stop.

  


Walt has a calendar on the fridge, stuck to it with a magnet shaped like Virginia and one like a guitar, counting down the days until their finals. He marks them off every day, chewing on his nails and looking haggard, but he smiles tiredly at Nate before starting a pot of coffee. If this is how Walt deals with stress, it’s certainly way more healthy than how Nate does.

  


Until one day, all of Nate’s papers are due and he has finals to take, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his life, because this is it. This is his chance at going home in one piece and living out a normal life. Or, as normal as it can be when he’s jerking off to thoughts of being tied up. He has no idea what he’s going to do when he graduates, but he’s pretty sure he didn’t spend nearly enough time studying ninety percent of the information on his finals.

  


 _This is it_ , Nate thinks tiredly, running a hand over his face before tugging at his hair. This is how he disappoints his family by failing these last few classes he needs to graduate. His parents are going to be convinced he should have stayed home for the rest of the semester because clearly the stress was getting to him. They’re his parents, they always know what’s best for him.

  


Even the few texts from home wishing him good luck and telling him he was going to do awesome did nothing to ease the heavy knot twisting around in his stomach. He tries to rethink his answer but his brain has gone comfortably numb after all the information has passed through it and he can’t even recall if he remembered to write his name on his test before turning it in.

  


It would be just Nate’s luck to fail his last class and not graduate because he forgot to scribble  _Nate Fick_  across the top. It’s like the time he was in third grade and cried to his mom because he failed his spelling test because he forgot to write his name on the top of it when he was so sure he got  _important_  and  _persevere_  right.

  


By the time Nate is done, he’s completely exhausted, mentally and physically. He never wants to move from his spot on the living room floor. He doesn’t think he could manage it even if the apartment caught fire. This is where he will die, Nate thinks, spreading out like a starfish and pressing his cheek against a cushion he stole from the couch. This will be his final farewell.

  


Walt makes his way back from his classes and lunch with Maria eventually and heads straight for the fridge. He doesn’t look at Nate until he’s come back with the bottle of UV, leaning back against the couch from his spot on the floor and screwing off the cap. He drinks straight from the bottle and hands it off to Nate. “Now we wait,” he says ominously.

  


Nate accepts the bottle when it’s passed to him, feebly trying to drink from it without pushing himself any further up. He manages to get it eventually, only spilling a little on himself in the process. He makes a vaguely affirmative sound and passes the bottle back to Walt. “Now we wait,” he agrees.

  
\- - -  


Waiting to find out if they’re going to graduate is one of the worst weeks of Nate’s life. He’s not fearing for his life, which is always nice, but the fear that he’s not going to make it and he’s going to be a disappointment to his family is almost as gripping. They’ve given so much to him, trusted when he said he could do this, that he had to do this. It would be just like him to fail at the last possible minute.

  


Nate doesn’t want to fail. He doesn’t know what he would do with his life if he had to repeat a semester. He doesn’t know how he’d be able to look anyone in the face and know that they’re wondering how much it must hurt to fall off the pedestal Nate keeps so high for himself.

  


Nate doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he graduates, either, but that’s not as pressing a concern to him at the moment.  _One day at a time_ , he tells himself, which is probably also a motto he picked up from his limited knowledge of Alcoholics Anonymous, but at this point, Nate will take whatever he can get.

  
\- - -  


Nate is sleeping when Walt comes to wake him up, bursting into Nate’s room and jumping onto his bed. He’s got his laptop clenched to his chest, a fearful look on his face. “Grades have posted,” he says, biting his lip and squirming anxiously, pressing at Nate until he rolls over and sits up. “Get your lazy ass up, Nate, I need you to check with me.”

  


It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Nate to come to, blinking away sleep and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He scoots closer to Walt, pressed against his side, the both of them waiting in tense silence for his laptop to load the pages they need.

  


Walt passes the laptop to Nate to let him check his grades first, chewing on his nails. It’s a habit Nate has no idea when he picked up, but when he makes an idle comment about Walt not bleeding on his bed and Walt punches him in the arm.

  


Nate passes all of his classes. He stares at his grades for a minute, his heart somewhere around his throat, and he can’t quite remember how to breathe. He’s not thinking about crying or choking up or anything like that. Really, when all the relief and adrenaline is done washing through Nate’s system he thinks the only thing he really wants to do is maybe sleep for the rest of the century.

  


Passing the laptop back to Walt, Nate curls his fingers around Walt’s bicep in support. A small whimper escapes the back of Walt’s throat and at first, Nate thinks Walt failed and that he has no idea what to say to his best friend right now. He looks at Walt’s grades then, nearly biting his tongue when he sees the scores.

  


”You’re graduating,” Nate says, tightening his fingers around Walt’s arm and shaking him lightly. “I’m graduating. Oh my God, Walt, we’re graduating and we’re going to be college graduates. We’re going to be respectable adults – “

  


Walt makes a small sound, snapping his laptop shut and quickly putting it aside so he can tackle Nate to the bed in a bear hug. “We’re graduating,” he says, breathless and awed and maybe a little choked up. “Holy fuck, Nate,  _we did it_.”

  


Nate’s not entirely sure how they did it, is still surprised they did, but he just makes an embarrassing sound in the back of Walt’s throat and clutches him close. “Jesus Christ,” he says, and he means  _Thank God_.

  


The  _now what do we do_ s can wait until later, until after they’ve called home to share the good news and have calmed down enough to catch their breaths. Right now is for celebrating the fact they made it. Anything else can wait.

  
\- - -  


Graduation and the days leading up to are a bit of a blur. Nate remembers meeting his parents at the hotel their staying at and his sisters begging to be allowed to stay with him and Walt. He changes the sheets on his mattress and resigns himself to sharing a bed with Walt for the next few days. For his part, Walt doesn’t even mind. He’s still strung out, and the situation with Maria hasn’t improved any, but he goes to dinner with his mother and Nate’s family to celebrate their accomplishment.

  


There are a lot of lunches and dinners to be done while his parents are in town. There’s even more packing to be done, and Nate’s just glad their apartment is mostly pre-furnished, because he doesn’t think he’d know what to do with their beds and couch if it wasn’t. As it is, he manages to guilt his sisters into packing the kitchen and living room into boxes except for the bare essentials and he tackles his room himself.

  


The mindless busy work is good. It gives him something to do to help settle the restlessness in his bones. He’s okay with spending all his time doing laundry and rolling socks, finding out who borrowed what stuff from him and which friend left what movie on their coffee table. It’s an even better distraction from the fact there’s a low ache humming through his system and that he finds himself tensing up for no reason.

  


Nate is going home soon, back to DC. The place he hasn’t been since Spring Break and he was kidnapped and taken hostage. He knows his parents are expecting him to break down every time they look at him. They’ve admitted coming to Dartmouth to finish the year was a good idea, but it’s the most they want to speak on the subject. Nate has become the elephant in the living room and he doesn’t know if that’s adding to his restlessness or improving it.

  


There is a small part of Nate that is restless for a completely different reason, though. The hum through his veins has nothing to do with reawakened fear and nervous tension and everything to do with a desire to get laid. Sleeping with Gabe sated that feeling a little, but now that Nate has nothing else to focus on it’s the only thing he wants. He wants to meet a guy who will hold him down and fuck him until he’s screaming, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, would never admit it out loud. Nate just doesn’t know where to find someone like that.

  


The internet is a many splendored thing, Nate knows, but he’s not sure he’s comfortable Googling the kind of bar he needs when Walt is asleep on the bed next to him snoring softly and he can hear the low murmur of his sisters’ voices in the next room over. It’ll have to wait until he gets home, if he really plans on doing it. The mere thought has Nate’s heart thudding in his chest and his palms sweating, though, so he doesn’t think he has much choice. He wants it too bad not to do it.

  


Somewhere in the middle of his worrying and packing, Graduation happens. It feels like high school all over again, the same sense of boredom as he listens to speeches made by people he cares little for and the fact he’s itching to get his fingers on his diploma so he can finally get out of here and move on. He doesn’t have Walt anywhere near him to bother, or Gabe, and Nate feels like he’s slowly going to go insane when he waits for that final moment.

  


And then Nate has his diploma clutched in his fist and he’s being swept up by a whirlwind of hugs and tears, from friends and family and people he knows only in passing. He’s having the life squeezed out of him and his mother is near bawling into his robes. Nate’s smiling so hard it hurts and he wants to remember this moment forever, the way his sisters are both holding onto his arms and his father is looking at Nate like he’s not afraid he’s going to fall apart at a moment’s notice for the first time in a long time. For once, everything is okay again.

  
\- - -  


Walt and Nate drive back to DC together, most of their stuffed crammed into the back of the car and the trunk. It’s a long and quiet drive, but it doesn’t feel oppressive. It’s the exact opposite of the drive they took the first time they took this route, only they were going in a different direction then.

  


This is the end of so many things. Walt and Nate have been together since they were kids, going to the same schools and taking almost the same classes. They’re never going to get that lucky again. They have no choice but to find jobs in different places and move on. They’re not going to say goodbye, because Nate knows Walt will always be his best friend, his brother, but it’s still a sobering thought.

  


They don’t talk though, almost the entire way back home. Walt hums along with the radio and the low hum of country music and Nate doesn’t say a thing. He sleeps most of the trip until it’s his turn to drive, but he doesn’t change the station. If Walt wants country music, Nate won’t object. Maybe there is some form of latent guilt running through him, but he can’t help it. Nate’s been shutting Walt out. Letting him listen to a few twanging guitars is the least he can do.

  
\- - -  


Nate can feel the tightening in his chest the closer they get to DC. His skin is crawling and his stomach is objecting by crashing around, all the way to the point he can taste bile in the back of his throat. It’s a fight not to dig his nails into the armrest and to control himself.

  


Walt’s been driving for the last hour, since they got close to home and he was too antsy to sit still for any longer. Nate was hoping this would mean Walt wouldn’t notice how Nate was slowly slipping into a panic attack, can feel it edging in along the base of his brain and he’s sucking in sharp little breaths just to be able to breath. Walt doesn’t pull the car over or reach out for Nate, but it’s probably a close thing. “Call your parents and tell them you’re coming home with me tonight.”

  


Nate blinks in confusion, glancing at Walt. He opens his mouth to object, but Walt’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel and his gaze is steely as he stares pointedly ahead. “It’s too late for you to deal with this shit at home and it’s a lot easier to avoid questions and stares when it’s just me and my mom. Call home.”

  


”Okay,” Nate says, arching his hips up a little to pull his cellphone from his pocket. He debates calling, but he doesn’t want to listen to his mother try to wheedle into staying at home. He texts her instead, a quick  _Staying at Walt’s. Be back in the morning. Love you._  before turning off his phone and clutching it in his fingers.

  


Walt doesn’t say anything, biting at his lower lip instead, and Nate wonders what he’s thinking. He’s quiet for a long time, driving them deeper into the city until the streets all become familiar, even in the dark.  _Home_ , Nate thinks, but Walt cuts him off before he can say anything. “I’ve got some Jack in my bag. It’ll be warm, but I think you and I have a night of drinking ahead of us.”

  


”I don’t need to get drunk,” Nate says, pointedly tipping his head away from Walt to stare out the window. He ignores the fact he’s getting the jitters, trying to force himself to remain calm, to breathe in and out nice and slow, and it helps a little. He hasn’t broke down or burst into tears. He can to this. He can learn to control himself.

  


”Maybe you don’t, but I do,” Walt replies, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel slowly. His whole demeanor changes almost instantly, no longer hard and tense to something else. It’s hard for Nate to say exactly what Walt feels like now, but he thinks _tired_  might cover it. “Maria and I broke up this morning.”

  


”Walt,” Nate starts, but the platitudes die on his tongue. Walt doesn’t want to hear them any more than Nate did, Nate is sure. Walt doesn’t elaborate though, and Nate’s not sure if he’s supposed to ask why or not. He settles for dropping his head back against his headrest on the seat and sighing heavily. “So far this summer is going off to a great start.”

  


Walt laughs, something startled and high, but it evens out into something more natural. “No fucking kidding,” Walt says, and Nate can’t help but agree.

  
\- - -  


Walt’s mother raises an eyebrow when she sees Nate and Walt standing in the front doorway, but doesn’t say anything beyond “don’t be too loud” and disappearsfurther into the house. They share a look, Walt shifting the bag he grabbed from his trunk further up his shoulder, before they shrug and make their way to his room.

  


Bailey is sleeping on Walt’s bed when they make it to his room, stretched out across his covers and her feet kicking out as she runs in her dream. Nate takes the bag as Walt passes it to him, then Walt is moving to flop down on top of the Labrador and wakes her up with kisses and scratches. She barks once, startled, before she’s a mess of whines and quick licks of her tongue, weaseling out from under Walt until she can pin him down and lick his face clean.

  


Nate watches for a moment, smiling. The stupid, choked off giggles Walt is making as the dog attacks his face and the low whines from Bailey are enough of a distraction that Nate doesn’t have to think about the fact he’s come back to DC. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he was kind of hoping he’d have moved past this panic attack bullshit.

  


Not bothering to wait for Walt and Bailey to finish with their  _hello_ s, Nate opens Walt’s bag and pulls out the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. There aren’t any cups that Nate can find, so he settles for twisting off the top and drinking straight from the bottle.

  


Eventually, Walt manages to calm Bailey down enough that she’s content to just lay at his side and lick his jaw, and he props himself up on his elbows to look at Nate. “Considering you’re the one who didn’t want anything to drink in the first place…” Walt starts. He grins when Nate just quirks an eyebrow and reaches out with one hand. “Gimmie.”

  


Nate hands over the bottle and moves to sit on Walt’s bed, his back against the headboard. It only takes Walt a second to join him, sipping from the bottle and fluffing a pillow up behind him idly. Bailey claims the spot between them, deciding she’s had enough of Walt and starts licking at the line of Nate’s hip where his shirt rides up, his wrist up to his elbow, and Nate is too tired to object.

  


”Do you want to talk?” Nate asks, running his fingers through Bailey’s fur to scratch her behind the ears. He ignores the quirk of the eyebrow Walt gives him and makes a strange sound, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “I mean, I know you and Maria – that you liked her.”

  


”It just wasn’t working out,” Walt says after a moment of silence, sipping at the bottle of Jack before handing it back over to Nate. “I think, the more pressing question is, do  _you_  want to talk? And I don’t mean about Gabe.” Walt’s gaze is steely when he looks over at Nate, but it’s not unkind, just determined.

  


Nate’s default reaction is to say  _no_ , the word coming out harsher and louder than he means it to. “I’m sorry,” he adds, feeling a little guilty when Walt clenches his jaw. He takes a swig from the bottle, letting the whiskey sit on his tongue for a moment before he swallows and licks his lips. Nate clutches the bottle between his knees and runs his fingers through his hair slowly. “I wouldn’t even know where to start if I wanted to.”

  


Walt makes a soft, encouraging sound, before he reaches over and takes the bottle back. “I think you just start talking,” Walt says slowly, wiping at his face tiredly before taking a sip. “I just don’t think being home is going to be any good for you if you’re still biting back everything to the point of a panic attack.”

  


”I know that,” Nate says, shaking his head slightly. “I thought I would be better, that I’d have gotten over everything,” he adds, quieter. He draws his knees up, drumming his fingers against his kneecaps lightly and sighs heavily. He doesn’t have to hold out his hand for Walt to pass the bottle back, and this time Nate drinks a proper shot of it and relishes the burn. “Fuck,” he breathes out.

  


”Don’t drink so fast,” Walt scolds, but he doesn’t take the bottle back. He settles in more comfortably, smiling when Bailey pillows her head on his hip, and drapes his arm over the top of her. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Walt says quietly. “I just thought that maybe…”

  


Nate is torn. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not with anyone and especially not with Walt. He doesn’t want people to think he’s broken, to know what happened and think less of him because of it. Especially now that Nate’s slowly becoming – maybe not obsessed, but fixated – on the thought of having that kind of sex again. Nate doesn’t think anyone could possibly understand what he was going through, least of all Walt. Walt is a good person, he wouldn’t judge Nate to his face, but he’s so overprotective sometimes.

  


On the other hand though, there’s a strange sort of relief at the thought of finally getting all of this off of his chest. He could be done with it, maybe, if he just opened his mouth and told Walt everything that happened. That would be good, he thinks. Maybe finally telling  _someone_  would be enough for the anxiety attacks to settle and for Nate to finally move on with his life. Nate just wants to put Spring Break behind him.

  


Sighing heavily, Nate stops tracing circles against his kneecap and rests his cheek against it instead. He takes a sip of Jack and passes the bottle back to Walt. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, trying to decide if he does want to go through with this or not. He appreciates the fact that Walt doesn’t say anything, just plays with the soft ears on his dog until she huffs at him.

  


If worse comes to worst, Nate can just blame it all on the alcohol. He can already feel it buzzing through his system, warm and sweet. He can pretend he never said a thing, and if Walt thinks Nate doesn’t remember it, he’s smart enough to know not to bring it up. Not that this is the kind of thing one brings up in idle conversation, anyways.

  


Then, before Nate can talk himself out of it, he starts to talk. “I went to the gym,” he says, his words coming out in a rush and startling Walt into looking over at him. “I went to the gym, because I was getting frustrated at my parents and because I was worried about Mike and I got yelled at for smoking. I just wanted to burn off a little energy. I didn’t think it would hurt to be on my own for a few hours.”

  


And Walt just listens. He doesn’t say a thing the entire time Nate is talking. He lets Nate recount being asked for a light and searching for his Zippo before waking up alone and being stuck in a small room for days on end. Nate tells him about the pancakes, the men who had him even though he doesn’t mention their names, and about a well-worn copy of  _Good Omens_.

  


Nate doesn’t know at what point his voice gets high and his fingers start to tremble, when he feels his heart thudding in his chest and the bile raising at the back of his throat, but Nate can’t stop. He’s started this and now he needs to finish it, because he might break if he doesn’t. His words are rushed, doesn’t even know if Walt understands them, but Nate needs to be rid of them before he chokes on them and breaks down completely.

  


Nate talks past the tremble in his voice and the tears burning at the back of his eyes. He doesn’t have it in him to be ashamed of what he did, of offering to spread his legs in exchange for his life, and he’s grateful that the only thing Walt does is suck in a sharp breath at the words. He doesn’t know how long it takes to get all the words out, but it seems like an eternity has passed in nothing more than a heartbeat.

  


Suddenly, Nate just feels cold and small and more than a little broken. He wipes at his face, embarrassed about the fact he’s crying in front of Walt  _again_ , but neither of them comments on it. They’re quiet for the longest time after Nate’s done talking, only Bailey moving enough to lick Nate’s wrist in some small form of comfort.

  


It’s almost as terrifying not knowing how Walt feels about all of this as it was talking about it, but just as Nate’s about to break again, further, probably into open sobs that he’ll be humiliated about for the rest of his life, Walt passes him the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and says, “I knew I should have bought another bottle.”

  


There are no platitudes, no  _Oh my god_ s or  _I’m so sorry_ s or any sort of desire for Nate to check himself into therapy or a mental home. Just Walt, offering Nate something to drink and trying to smile at him, though the quirk of his lips is broken and small.

  


It’s enough, Nate thinks, to know that they’re going to be okay. Walt has his back, just like he always has. He doesn’t think less of Nate, and maybe that’s just because the gravity of what Nate told him hasn’t set in because of the alcohol and late night exhaustion, but it doesn’t matter. Right now, when Nate needs him the most, Walt has his back.

  


Nate’s not alone in this, not anymore.

  
\- - -  


It takes a week of the forced normalcy for Nate to break. He’s surprised he made it that long when his parents are treating him like he’s fragile and everyone is pointedly not talking about anything more serious than the weather forecast. It might have something to do with the fact he has Walt to distract him, and Mike, who is okay and cuffs Nate upside the head for choking on his words and his heart thudding in his throat in relief when he finally sees him again.

  


Nate and Walt don’t talk about what happened, not after that first night back. Walt comes around sometimes, to take Nate away from his family, but they usually just end up at Walt’s place. Nate isn’t entirely comfortable wandering around DC like it was Hanover. There’s still a low level of anxiety that hums under his skin whenever he’s out in the city for too long, whether he’s got Walt at his side or not.

  


Eventually, though, Nate knows he’s going to have to stop this. He’s already gotten past the most difficult hurdle in all of this, and that was admitting to Walt what happened to him over Spring Break. Now he just needs to figure out how to get the sex thing out of his system. He’s hoping the combination of the two things will be enough of a shock for his system to reset and go back to normal. Or at least, if he can’t reach normal, something more manageable.

  


It’s easy enough to get on Google and look up the kind of places to go that would help him solve his issues. DC is a big city, there are enough shady parts of town for people with less than the purest of intent to hang around in.

  


He knows better than to just pick one idly and head out, these kinds of places have reputations for a reason. He spends more time sorting through news reports looking up the legal history of each establishment than he does anything else. He wants a feel for these things, sure, and as much as he wants to go someplace to get this out of his system, he doesn’t want to wind up dead behind a dumpster. It’s DC, it would probably happen.

  


The hardest part is going to be figuring out how to get there – after he convinces himself to go. The latter shouldn’t be so difficult to do, because just the thought of sex has his heart thumping in his chest loud enough to hear. The problem lies in the fact he doesn’t exactly know how he’s supposed to slip out of the house without his parents knowing and take his car into a part of town his parents would skin him alive for being.

  


Idly, Nate wonders if this is one of those things he’s not supposed to do because it could ruin his father’s reputation. He can see the headlines now, tearing apart the Senator because his son is a cocksucker who likes to get roughed up. It was bad enough when the media learned about his sexuality the first time.

  


Leaning back in his seat, Nate stares at his laptop screen as he tries to think. There are so many ways this plan can go wrong and so many people could get hurt in the process, least of all himself. He doesn’t think it’s going to stop him from going through with this though, not when he wants and needs it as badly as he does.

  


Maybe he’s making a mistake, risking everything on a rash decision, but maybe it’s time for Nate to be more impulsive. The harder he tries to hold everything close and control it the quicker he is to break down. Since giving in and sharing with Walt on a whim, he’s felt better. Nate thinks it’s a trend that could continue, if he let it.

  


The only way to find out is to just go through with his plan and Nate isn’t going to give himself room to back out, not when he’s so close to finally being done with everything.

  


He roots through his closet quickly for the jeans Gabe says make him edible and a tee-shirt to go with them. He changes and grabs his wallet, his keys, before slipping into his father’s study long enough to tell him he has last minute plans with Walt, he’ll probably be back in a few hours but he’ll call if he isn’t. Nate doesn’t give his father a chance to respond beyond a vague objection before he’s slipping through the house and making his way to his Volvo.

  


No one stops Nate from pulling his car out of the garage and drive, so he counts it as a win in his favor. He takes it to mean his father trusts him enough to take care of himself for a few hours, or he, like Mike and Nate’s mother, trust Walt enough to keep him out of trouble. He feels guilty for lying to his parents, for always lying to them about everything these last few weeks, but if this works, he won’t have to lie to them anymore. Everything will be okay again.

  


Nate takes his time driving around the city, trying to slow the racing of his heart and work out his plan. He knows the name of the bar he wants to go to, knows how to get to it assuming Google Maps isn’t lying to him again. Once he’s there, he just needs to order a drink and find someone who looks like they can give Nate what he wants. He’ll work the details out with them once he gets there.

  


He spends almost an hour driving around, but he’s glad for it. It gives him a chance to solidify the few details he does have planned in his head and he doesn’t feel as giddy. It wouldn’t be the first time he was turned away from a bar because he didn’t fit the bill of being an of age college student, not even in this town. The only saving Grace is that Walt is usually turned away with him.

  


There is no Walt this time. Nate’s all alone in the part of the city he’s not supposed to come to, parking his Volvo in a poorly lit parking lot and hoping to God no one tries to steal it. It’s no nicer than some of the other cars here, just cleaner, but Nate’s not entirely sure how long his luck will hold or if he even trusts it to.

  


Taking a deep breath, Nate gives himself an hour, or one drink, whichever goes by first. If this doesn’t work, he’ll come back another night, when his nerves aren’t as frayed and he’s not as tense. Maybe he shouldn’t have come tonight, when the plan is still so fresh and full of so many holes, but Nate can’t leave now. He’s too close to putting this behind him to turn back now.

  


Nate closes his eyes and counts to ten, quickly and quietly, before letting out another deep breath. He glances in his rearview mirror long enough to run his fingers through his hair, mussing it lightly, before he’s pushing open the door of his Volvo and stepping out into the night air.

  


The bar doesn’t look like much and normally it’s the kind of place Nate would avoid at all costs. There is a smell in the air, something Nate doesn’t want to be able to identify. The bricks are grimy and the windows are blacked out, and when Nate pushes open the door to step inside, the air is muggy and dank. He sucks in a startled breath, biting his tongue, and spares a quick glance around to take in the dark furniture and red vinyl before he makes his way slowly to the bar.

  


There’s a jukebox in the corner crooning out CCR, and if Nate focuses on the low murmur of voices, he can almost pretend this is just any other bar. He orders Jack on the rocks, flashing a small smile at the bitter looking bartender, and is honestly surprised when he’s not carded. He knows better than to complain though and thanks him for the drink before he takes a sip of it. It’s hard not to down the thing immediately, but Nate knows he needs to be level-headed if he wants this to pan out according to his admittedly less than stellar plan.

  


At first, Nate is left alone. He can feel the bartender’s eyes on him, watching him in suspicion, maybe, waiting for Nate to do or say something out of line. It gives Nate a chance to look around the bar as subtly as he can manage, but he can feel his heart sinking in his chest. The pickings aren’t exactly sparse, per se, but Nate can’t find anyone who he thinks could give him what he wants and doesn’t terrify him a little bit.

  


It’s just as Nate is finishing his drink and reaching for his wallet to pay for it and maybe consider the night a bust, because his skin is starting to crawl a little and he’s not entirely sure he wants to know the last time the glass he drank out of washed, that he feels someone at his back. There’s a hand on his wrist, stopping him from grabbing his wallet, and a bill drops onto the counter in front of him.

  


”Let me buy you another,” a low voice rumbles in Nate’s ear, breath hot and wet on the back of his neck. Nate’s body is torn between being scared and turned on, and when he looks up at the man who just bought his drink, he thinks he’s a little more wide-eyed than he should be. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  


Nate licks his lips and tries to smile. There’s something off-putting about the man, something that makes Nate’s stomach clench in anxiety and his heart thud loudly in his chest. He’s strong, his arms thick and covered in ink, and he watches Nate with unblinking dark eyes. “That’s nice of you, but I should be going now.”

  


”I said, let me buy you a drink,” the man repeats, his fingers squeezing tight around Nate’s wrist and he sits on the barstool at Nate’s side. He doesn’t loosen his grip when Nate tries to tug away, and his smile widens when Nate’s panic becomes obvious. He gestures at the bartender for a refill and a glass of his own, and the bartender doesn’t say a thing about the way he’s crushing Nate’s wrist.

  


”Let me go,” Nate says, clenching his jaw and glaring at the taller, older man. “Please,” he tacks on, because it never hurts to be polite, especially when dealing with strangers. He hears Mike’s voice echoing in his head, berating him for not having proper manners, and Nate wonders what Mike would say if he could see Nate now.

  


”I bought you a drink, the least you can do is stay and talk for a few minutes,” the man continues, ignoring Nate’s request. He tugs until Nate turns, facing him, and trails his eyes up and down Nate’s body slowly, taking in the view. “A pretty thing like you should know better than to come to a place like this all by your lonesome.”

  


”That’s none of your business – “ Nate starts, tugging at his wrist.

  


”He’s not alone,” someone else says, cutting Nate off entirely. Nate barely has time to swivel around to see who the Hell would come to his rescue and he almost bites off his tongue choking on air. Standing behind Nate, looking pissed off and ready to snap, is one of the last people in the universe Nate ever expected or wanted to see again. “Let him the fuck go before I have to hurt you.”

  


The man holding Nate’s wrist is quiet for a moment, but he slackens his grip enough that Nate can tug his hand away and check for bruises. “I was just buying the boy a drink,” he says, holding up his own hands in defeat. “I wouldn’t have touched him if I knew he was yours. You should know better than to let your boys wander around on their own, Person.”

  


Nate’s head snaps up at the comment of ownership, but before he can object, Ray is digging his fingers into Nate’s thigh hard enough that Nate lets out a small, startled yelp.

  


”Fuck off and mind your own business,” Ray snaps, and the look he gives the other man is enough for Ray and Nate to be left alone. “Did he drink out of this?” Ray asks, picking up the abandoned glass of Jack and Nate shakes his head dumbly. “Good,” Ray says, and he downs the thing in almost one shot.

  


For a moment, there’s nothing for Nate to do but stare helplessly at Ray. It’s a fight not to throw up, his stomach clenching and twisting suddenly as he’s brought face to face with one of the people he’d pointedly didn’t think about for the last few months. Suddenly, Nate feels weak and all he wants to do is tuck tail and run home. He doesn’t want to be here anymore.

  


”Shit, Nate,” Ray is saying, and he almost looks concerned when he reaches out to touch Nate’s shoulder.

  


The touch is enough for Nate to bring a hand up to his mouth in hopes of stemming the sudden rush of bile up his throat through his system. He manages to garble out a broken  _’m gonna be sick_  before he’s pushing past Ray and out of the bar, back out into the city. He manages to make it three steps towards the sidewalk before he’s keeling over and throwing up.

  


He can feel the hysteria pumping through his system, choking him as much as his vomit is, and there’s nothing for Nate to do but clutch at a dirty lamppost and sob his way through this, until there’s nothing left to purge and he’s dry heaving. His heart is still thudding in his chest and he’s incapable of catching his breath, and the only thing Nate can think is  _Why him? Why now?_  and wonder what he did for his Karma to be so fucked up because he definitely doesn’t deserve this after all this time.

  


And to think, Nate was doing so well in the moving on and forgetting about this department.


	8. Ray

It takes a second for Ray’s brain to catch up with the rest of his body and for the shock to wear off. He follows Nate out of the bar, because it would kind of suck to hear about his probable rape and murder on the five o’clock news tomorrow. He doesn’t touch Nate though, just stands close enough to him to keep any of the creeps wandering around away.

  


Ray has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. Well, he knows what he’s  _doing_. He’s out at a bar to pick up a pretty boy to suck his cock because Brad is a dick. He even vaguely knows why he would follow Nate out of the bar to keep him safe. It’s just, now that Nate’s not so much as retching as trying to suck in a sharp breath and breathe, Ray is kind of lost.

  


He stands there, hands shoved in his pockets while he watches Nate try to get back some modicum of self-control. When Nate’s not so much heaving as trembling a little, Ray nudges Nate’s leg with the toe of his boots. “You done spazzing out yet?”

  


Nate startles, nearly falling over as he moves to get his feet under him and back away from Ray. He backs up too far, his foot slipping over the edge of the curb, and Ray is moving to catch the front of Nate’s shirt and keep him from falling before he even thinks about it. He doesn’t let go, not even when Nate is staring at him in wide eyed confusion and manages to regain his footing. Nate’s hand is hot and clammy when it touches Ray’s, and he tugs Ray’s hand away from him slowly.

  


He licks his lips, and it shouldn’t be so distracting when Ray knows the kid just vomited up everything he’s probably eaten in the last week, but his tongue is quick and pink and Ray knows what he can do with it. “You can’t be here,” Nate says, clenching his hands into fists at his side.

  


”I should probably be telling you the exact same thing,” Ray says, folding his arms over his chest and frowning at Nate. “Do I even want to know why you thought it would be a good idea to wander around this part of town all by yourself? Didn’t your daddy teach you better?”

  


”That is none of your goddamn business,” Nate flushes. He moves to sidestep Ray, back towards the bar or the parking lot, Ray isn’t entirely sure, but he doesn’t get very far before Ray is catching Nate’s elbow and holding him in place. “Don’t fucking touch me – “

  


”I think, considering I just saved you from getting shoved into a brick wall and fucked ‘til you bleed, the least you can do is stand and talk for five minutes,” Ray replies. He tightens his grip when Nate tries to pry Ray’s fingers off of him. “Nate.”

  


”I don’t owe you anything,” Nate snaps at Ray. “I will  _never_  owe you anything, especially after what you did to me – “

  


The words are like a punch to the gut. Ray relaxes his grip on Nate, but Nate doesn’t try to storm off this time. He’s breathing heavily, watching Ray through narrowed eyes, and Ray wonders if he’s going to have another panic attack. “It could have been a lot worse.”

  


Nate makes a small sound, begrudgingly admitting the truth to Ray’s words. “I wish,” Nate starts. “That you would just leave me the fuck alone, now.” He’s not making eye-contact anymore, the color rising in his cheeks. “It’s none of your business what I do in my free time. I can hang around in seedy bars and get fucked in dark alleys if I want.”

  


Ray is really not sure what the fuck he’s supposed to say to that. He runs his fingers through his hair slowly, tugging at the messy strands, before making a small sound and nodding. “You know what, whatever. If you want to make a serious mistake and ruin your life forever, I’m not going to stop you. You’re clearly a responsible grown ass man.”

  


”You’re not nearly as cute as you think you are,” Nate says, shooting Ray a dark look. He takes a step towards the front door of the bar and narrows his eyes when he notices Ray following him. “What the fuck do you want?”

  


”It’s a bar,” Ray says slowly, giving Nate an incredulous look. “You’re not the only one who left the house with the intents of getting drunk and getting laid tonight, you know. And fuck you, I’m  _adorable_.”

  


Nate laughs, stressed. “You know what, I don’t even care,” he says, shaking his head. He makes his way back into the bar, the set of his shoulders tense, and Ray follows him. Ray feels absolutely no shame in checking out Nate’s ass as he takes a seat at the bar, and Ray slides into the barstool next to him. Nate’s eyes narrow again and he glowers at Ray. “Would you leave me alone already?”

  


”The way I see it, you’re a pretty boy sitting alone at the bar,” Ray replies, flashing Nate a brilliant smile. “In case you aren’t familiar with these kinds of places, this is the part where a skeevy scumbag buys you a drink. I thought I would spare you from all the mental scarring that comes from getting hit on by a dude twice your size that wants to be called  _papa bear_  and just buy you one instead.”

  


Nate opens his mouth to object, but the bartender is back in front of them and giving the both of them filthy looks. Nate blinks up at him, almost helplessly, but mostly startled by his sudden appearance.

  


”He’ll take a Jack and Coke,” Ray says, before Nate can start to flounder or pull his shit together. “Same for me.”

  


”Jack, straight, on the rocks,” Nate says, shooting Ray a dark look. “You’re not buying me a drink. Fuck off already.”

  


Ray rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move to leave Nate alone. He notices that Nate isn’t pushing away from Ray, either, and Ray wonders if that’s some kind of sign or if Nate is smart enough to figure out this really isn’t the kind of place he wants to be alone in but is too stubborn to admit it. “So, you know. You can at least talk to me until you finish your drink, since I bought it and all.”

  


”You didn’t buy my drink,” Nate says, pulling out his wallet and slapping money down on the bar as soon as his glass is slid in front of him. He sends Ray a dark look, just daring him to object, before he picks up his glass and downs most of it in a single gulp. Grimacing, Nate adds, “and I’ve asked you more than once to leave me alone.”

  


”But you didn’t ask politely and I’m kind of petulant when I want to be,” Ray replies, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. He takes a sip from his own glass, swiveling on his barstool to face the rest of the bar, leaning his elbows back on the bar top behind him. “So, tell me. What exactly was it you were looking for here?”

  


Nate is quiet for a minute, his shoulders hunched as he leans over his drink. He’s tense, beyond obviously, and Ray shoots warning looks to anyone who lets their eyes linger on Nate for more than a few seconds. It’s stupid, because he has no right to be this protective of Nate. By all rights, he shouldn’t even care. Nate isn’t anything to him.

  


Except, Ray thinks, as much as he pointedly tried not to think about Nate these last few weeks, sometimes he couldn’t help it. It doesn’t even have anything to do with the way it felt to have Nate on his knees before him, though, Ray’s not going to deny that was fuck awesome. Something about Nate lingers around the house, inexplicably, and Ray kind of wants to find out why.

  


When Ray swivels around on his chair, again, Nate has downed the last of his drink and is gesturing at the bartender for a refill. Ray doesn’t say anything, just quirks his eyebrow, but Nate is pointedly avoiding making eye contact. “So either you’re acting out like a little bitch,” Ray says, which gets Nate to glance over at him. “Or you are seriously way more kinky then Brad and I gave you credit for.”

  


”I’m not kinky,” Nate says. He rolls his eyes and looks away from Ray again, tracing his finger along the rim of his glass and staring into it contemplatively. “If I give you twenty dollars, will you  _please_  leave me alone?”

  


”No,” Ray says before he even has time to think about it. “But I might if you blow me.” Nate makes a choking sound, but before Nate can object proper, Ray tacks on, “I’d return the favor.”

  


”Look, I’m not going to blow you ever,” Nate snaps. “Once was bad enough.” Nate glares when Ray makes an affronted sound. “Yes, if it makes you happy to hear it, I came here to get laid. I want someone to shove me against a wall and fuck me hard enough to leave bruises for weeks. I don’t want to be able to walk straight tomorrow. All I want is for you to go away long enough for me to get that. You are the absolute last person I ever wanted to see again so it would be great if you could go back to staying out of my life.”

  


”Which is exactly what I’m offering here,” Ray points out. It kind of surprises him when the words slip out of his mouth, but who is he to pretend the thought of having sex with Nate against hasn’t been lingering at the back of his mind since he set eyes on him again? Ray would be crazy not to want it. Especially when the last time the circumstances were kind of – well. Still, Nate is kind of perfect. “You already know I can give you what you want and get you off.”

  


”You’ll forgive me if the last time I let you fuck me doesn’t exactly sit high on my list of favorite encounters,” Nate says wryly, curling his fingers tight around his glass. He doesn’t knock it back, which kind of surprises Ray but he’s a little relieved for, because a shit-faced, stubborn Nate is the last thing he wants to deal with tonight. “Besides, I hardly remember it.”

  


”Oh, fuck you,” Ray huffs at him. He takes another sip of his drink, reaching out to cover Nate’s with his hand to stop him from taking another drink. “Nate.”

  


Nate lets Ray take his glass away from him without a fight, which is a surprise, but Ray doesn’t comment on it. “Why are you even here, Ray? Why bother me now?”

  


Ray ignores the rush of smug pride of Nate calling him by name for the first time all night. He doesn’t have an answer to Nate’s questions though, not really. He’s bothering Nate now because Nate is here when he shouldn’t be and Ray would hate for a pretty thing like Nate to get hurt. Ray comes to these kinds of places often enough to know what kinds of creeps lurk around the corners just waiting to take advantage of a twinky college kid.

  


Instead of saying any of that, Ray just shrugs his shoulders again. “Let me make this easy for you,” he says, pinching Nate’s arm until Nate looks up and meets his eyes. “We both came here for the same thing. We both know we’ll deliver. You know you can trust me.”

  


”You  _kidnapped_  me,” Nate hisses, dropping his voice and glaring at Ray again.

  


Ray holds up a finger, frowning at Nate. “That was one time and it had nothing to do with you specifically. I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. The part I was going to point out, is that you know I have no intention of hurting you. There’s nothing to gain from it. We both get what we want. You get to go home safe and in one piece and without having to worry about me changing my mind and killing you halfway through.”

  


Nate is quiet for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to think. “I can’t,” he starts, then stops, shaking his head. He fixes Ray with a serious look, clenching his jaw. “You are quite possibly the only person in the universe who would try to pick up a hostage you once had in a bar.”

  


”I’m also going to point out that the only reason we fucked the last time was because you offered to spread your legs,” Ray says, downing the last of his drink and smacking his glass back onto the counter. “Brad and I were prepared to…” His words trail off, because there are certain things he can’t say, not even in a bar like this. Ray clears his throat. “Take it or leave it, Nate.”

  


Nate’s jaw is still clenched, but he looks away from Ray and traces a crack in the bar with his finger slowly. He’s thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons, and Ray doesn’t know whether to laugh or worry about Nate’s apparent lack of sanity. By all right’s, Nate should be getting the hell out of Dodge and putting as many miles between him and Ray as he can. He’s not though, and Ray wonders if Nate was always this reckless and they missed it, or if they fucked him up worse than they thought.

  


Then, when Ray thinks Nate is just going to ignore him forever and pretend none of this happened, Nate asks, “What about Brad?”

  


And Ray doesn’t really have a good answer to that. Brad would probably be fucking pissed if he knew Ray was here, talking to Nate, offering to bring him home and fuck him seven ways to Sunday. Nate’s not the only one who should have run away the minute he laid eyes on Ray. Ray is breaking a million rules and regulations just by talking to Nate now.

  


Ray is Ray though, and he doesn’t care about any of that. Talking to Nate is probably the least dangerous thing he’s done all day, short of the half hour he spent on the phone bitching with Hoosier about dick roommates or fuck buddies or whatever they were calling Leckie and Brad at any given moment. Then again, Brad carries a gun for a living and Leckie is good at hiding bodies, so maybe sitting in a bar with Nate is the least dangerous.

  


”You don’t have to worry about Brad,” Ray says after a moment, drumming his fingertips against the bar. He shoots Nate a sideways look when Nate manages to look both relieved and a little deflated. Something clicks, then and Ray is torn between teasing Nate and feeling a little jealous. “Unless the only reason you’re considering it in the first place is because you  _want_  to be defiled by Brad. Depressed about having missed your chance last time?”

  


”Fuck you,” Nate says, his cheeks flushing. “The only reason – I’m not considering it. I just drank my Jack too fast.” He looks away from Ray and stares pointedly at the crack in the bar, digging his nail into it and making a frustrated sound. “I should be getting home now.” Nate pushes away from the bar and stands, pulling his wallet out to drop more money on the bar top.

  


”You can’t seriously be thinking about driving anywhere right now,” Ray frowns, turning on his stool to face Nate. He doesn’t reach out to grab him, to stop him, but he doesn’t need to. He checks to see how much money Nate laid down, before he reaches into his own pocket covers the tab for himself. “At least take a cab before you tuck tail and run.”

  


”I’m not running,” Nate scowls. He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at it in stress, before looking at Ray again. “I can’t just leave my car here. If it made it through the night it would probably come back to my father – “

  


Ray quirks an eyebrow. He reaches for Nate’s belt loop, tugging him in closer before sticking his hand into Nate’s pocket and grabbing his keys. Nate makes a startled sound, but Ray has already pushed away from the bar and Nate and is making his way towards the door. “Do you still drive that shitty Volvo?”

  


”Give me back my keys, Ray,” Nate says, curling his fingers around Ray’s arm and dragging him to a stop once they reach the parking lot. He tries to grab his keys back, but he’s had enough to drink that his movements aren’t as precise as they should be, and Ray just holds Nate’s keys in a fist behind his back. “I swear to god – “

  


”You are seriously in no shape to drive,” Ray counters. “You can’t even beat me in a game of keep away. If you won’t let me buy you a drink and you won’t take a cab, the least you can do is make sure I get you somewhere safe for the night. Hey. You’ve been in a car I’ve driven before.”

  


Nate opens his mouth, probably to ask when, before it clicks in and he makes a face at Ray. “I was unconscious and probably in the trunk of a car. I’m not going to fit in my Volvo’s trunk.”

  


”Have you tried?” Ray asks, taking a step away from Nate and towards the car. He smiles wolfishly when Nate follows, but he takes his time, careful not to trip and stumble when he can’t even see where he’s going. “I mean, a Volvo’s no Escalade and you’re almost freakishly tall, but I’m pretty sure we could manage it as long as you stay conscious for it. Dead weight is hard to manipulate.”

  


”How about you give me my keys and I don’t lock you in the trunk?” Nate asks. He keeps moving until Ray is bumping back against a car, the Volvo he notices as he glances over his shoulder, and Nate looks pleased with himself. He grabs the car on either side of Ray’s hips, pinning him in. “Ray. Keys.”

  


Ray smirks up at Nate, leaning comfortably back against the car and folding his arms over his chest. “I didn’t know you were into that.”

  


”I’m not,” Nate says, wrinkling his nose. “Why is everything a sex thing with you?”

  


”Why  _isn’t_  everything a sex thing with you?” Ray counters. He clenches his fingers tighter around Nate’s keys when Nate tries to pry them out of his hand, and the sharp edge digs into his palm. He doesn’t let go though and doesn’t hand them over. “The only reason you’re being so stubborn about this is because you know I’m right.”

  


”And because we don’t exactly have the nicest history,” Nate replies, glaring at Ray. “Ray. I don’t have time for this. Give me my keys back so I can go home.”

  


”If you go home alone you’ve wasted an entire evening of drinking,” Ray replies. He pushes his hips off the car long enough to put Nate’s keys in his back pocket, and Nate hesitates in reaching back to grab them. “And I’ve wasted a night, too. Lose-lose situation. But. If you come with me, you get laid, I get laid, we’re both happy.” Ray touches a finger to Nate’s nose when he opens his mouth to object. “ _Brad_  gets laid, and we are both extremely satisfied with the night.”

  


”How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want to have sex with you before you get the hint?” Nate asks, scowling at Ray.

  


”Maybe, but you do want to have a threesome with me and Brad,” Ray says and he knows by the sharp inhale and the way Nate’s cheeks flush that he’s hit the nail on the head. Slowly, Ray reaches for one of Nate’s belt loops and curls his finger through it, urging Nate to move closer. Nate fights the action, but Ray was expecting him to. “Don’t you want that, Nate? I remember the way you were looking at him. You were hoping he’d be the one to fuck you into the mattress last time, not me.”

  


”I didn’t – “ Nate starts, licking his lips and looking away. “I wasn’t – I  _don’t_  want that at all.”

  


”So you’re not even a little bit curious what it would feel like?” Ray asks, pushing off the Volvo until he’s standing up, pressed against Nate’s front. He doesn’t let Nate step away from him, dragging him in by his belt loops and holding him in place. “You don’t want to know what it’s like to be held down and used, to be passed back and forth until you’re completely spent and can’t possibly take anymore.” Pushing himself up onto his tiptoes, Ray brushes his lips against Nate’s jaw and whispers in his ear, “to be fucked by two people at once?”

  


Nate sucks in a sharp breath, a shudder running through his body, and Ray knows he’s won. Nate’s hands move from the car to Ray’s hips, grabbing them and pushing Ray away from him. “I am going to regret this,” he says, dropping his head to hide his eyes and biting at his lip. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

  


”You won’t regret it,” Ray says, stepping away from Nate and moving to the driver’s side door. “Trust me. We’ll take care of you and get you home in one piece. So get in the car already.”

  


Nate hesitates for a moment, watching Ray through wary eyes, but he moves to get in the passenger’s seat. He leans over to unlock the driver’s door, and when Ray slides in, he hands over the keys. “What about your car?” He asks, slouching in his seat seat and stretching out as best he can in it before clicking on his seatbelt.

  


”Didn’t bring it,” Ray replies easily without looking at Nate. He buckles his own seatbelt before he turns over the ignition, wrinkling his nose at Nate’s taste in music as soon as the radio turns on. He sends Nate a look, unimpressed with the old school rap, before he changes the dial to the country station.

  


It’s Nate’s turn to wrinkle his nose in disgust, but he doesn’t say anything or try to turn the station back to what he had it at before. He’s trained well, Ray thinks idly with a smug little smile. “Are we going back to your place, then?”

  


It occurs to Ray that taking Nate back to the house is probably a very bad idea. Like seriously, colossally, Brad will probably never ever talk to him again and kill him slowly and painfully bad. The thing about Nate though, is that he exudes an air of trust. “Yeah,” he says, after a minute. “Assuming I’m not going to have to gut you for telling anyone where it is. Or you could prove we’ve ever done wrong by you or your father in the first place.”

  


”That’s not what this is about,” Nate says, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t – I’m not dumb enough to think you  _wouldn’t_  kill me for that.” He stares out the front window of the Volvo as Ray pulls out of the parking lot, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. “I just need to know something. Believe me when I say I want nothing to do with you after all of this is over.”

  


”Well that was just uncalled for,” Ray says, clucking his tongue and shooting Nate an unimpressed look. “Really, my feelings are hurt.”

  


”Shut up and drive, Ray, before I change my mind,” Nate mutters bitterly, leaning back in his seat and looking out of his window.

  


Biting his tongue, Ray shakes his head and laughs to himself. He’s probably making a very bad decision, one that will end with his body floating in the Potomac when Brad is done with him. It’s hard to care when Nate is stretched out and trying to look at ease, close enough that Ray could touch him if he wanted to, offering to spread his legs and let Ray have his wicked way with him all he wants.

  


Nate’s not the only one who’s going to be screwed over this, Ray thinks, but the thought just makes him smile and push down on the gas pedal. He’s always been a little on the reckless side, why should that change now?

  
\- - -  


Nate lets his eyes wander across the front of the house, making a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “You have a nice place,” he says, like it’s no big deal, but Ray knows he’s trying to figure out exactly what it takes to score a place like this and he’s side-eying all the security cameras and the thick wall.

  


”Brad has a nice place,” Ray corrects, because the words have been ingrained in him time and time again. He’s so used to Brad wrinkling his nose and pointing out that  _he_  owns the place, not Ray, and that Ray is welcome to kindly fuck off and move out at any point. Ray’s still really kind of amazed he got away with moving in in the first place. “And he got it for the garage.”

  


Nate’s eyes follow Ray’s finger as he points towards the garage, and he makes another vague noise. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t really care about the landscape or the décor here, Ray.”

  


Ray puts the car into park in front of a side door, flashing Nate a devious little smile. “Good, because I couldn’t tell you shit about all the stuff Brad’s got crammed in there to make it look respectable,” he says.

  


Nate  _hmm_ s lightly, staring at his lap and spreading his fingers wide across his thighs. He doesn’t react when Ray touches his elbow, letting Ray trail is fingers down Nate’s arm. The muscles in Nate’s thighs go tense when Ray touches them, his fingers skimming along Nate’s inseam, but before Ray can grope him, Nate is twisting in his seat and pushing up against the door. “Ray.”

  


”You know you can back out at any time,” Ray says, but Nate just shakes his head and worries at his lower lip.

  


”That’s not what I – “ Nate starts. He rubs a hand over his face before smiling faintly. He leans forward, across the mid compartment, and curls his fingers into the front of Ray’s shirt. The flush on Nate’s cheeks deepens, his lips red from being bitten, but then he’s leaning in and kissing Ray. It’s hesitant and a little awkward, but then Nate nips at Ray’s lips and a soft sound escapes Nate’s throat.

  


For a minute, Ray is willing to let Nate have this. Then, he nips at Nate’s tongue roughly before he starts to suck on it, bringing a hand up to grab the back of Nate’s neck and tangling his fingers in the short hairs there. It’s easy to guide Nate where he wants him, to dominate the kiss and force them to keep their lips pressed together until they’re both dizzy and breathless. He doesn’t let up until Nate starts to whine against his mouth, fingers fisted tight in the front of Ray’s shirt and Ray is starting to get uncomfortable with the position.

  


Trailing kisses along Nate’s jaw, Ray nips at the corner, then does the same to Nate’s earlobe. He trails his tongue along the shell and smirks when Nate moans, shuddering against him. Pulling back, Ray lets his fingers linger to smooth out Nate’s shirt. “In hindsight, that’s completely disgusting,” he says, running a thumb over his own lower lip. “I watched you throw up earlier.”

  


Nate laughs, startled, and rolls his eyes. Leaning in conspiringly, Nate sucks a kiss into Ray’s jaw before murmuring softly, “and in the next ten minutes, I’m going to go down on you. My mouth will taste like your come on top of everything else.”

  


”I’m okay with that,” Ray breathes out, tipping his head to the side to give Nate more room to kiss along his jaw. “We should probably go inside now.”

  


”Probably,” Nate agrees. He lets go of Ray, pulling away, and undoes his seatbelt. He gets out of his car easily, stretching as soon as he’s standing up again, and Ray takes a second to appreciate the lines of Nate’s body and the way his shirt rides up his back before he gets out of the car as well. Nate waits patiently for Ray to lead the way, fumbling to find his own keys in his pocket and unlock the door to the house.

  


As soon as they’re inside, the door slipping shut behind them, Nate is crowding Ray against the door and nipping at his jaw again. He nuzzles lightly, his breath hot against Ray’s skin, exhaling sharply when Ray slips his hands up under the hem of Nate’s shirt to touch his sides and trace the lines of his hipbones. “I want to go down on you,” Nate whispers. “Let me go down on you.”

  


It startles a laugh out of Ray to hear Nate ask for permission in between kisses to Ray’s jaw, but then again, he figures that was kind of the point. Nate came here to give up control, Ray should probably start to take it. “Maybe you should get on your knees and try asking nicely.”

  


For a second, Nate looks surprised, but then he lets out a soft whine and slides to his knees easily. His hands make their way to Ray’s hips and he leans in to kiss Ray’s stomach, rubbing his face against the front of Ray’s jeans and kissing the crease of his thigh. “Please, Ray,” he moans softly, mouthing up along Ray’s zipper. “Please, let me suck your cock.”

  


Any other time, Ray thinks he might wait until Nate is honestly begging for it before he consents. He’s too impatient for that right now though, instead reaching down to undo his belt slowly while Nate watches with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Ray stops Nate from reaching for him, taking his time in popping the button and dragging the zipper down.

  


Ray pulls his cock out of his smalls, pressing his jeans a little further down his thighs to give him more room, before he strokes himself slowly. He smiles when Nate leans in to kiss his fingers, his tongue reaching out to taste, but he doesn’t touch Ray’s dick. It’s enough for Ray to groan and fist a hand in Nate’s hair, dragging him close and ordering him to  _suck_.

  


Nate doesn’t disappoint. He presses a kiss under the head of Ray’s cock, his tongue quick where it laps at him, tasting, before he mouths kisses down the length of it. He tongues the base, mouthing at Ray’s balls, and he doesn’t stop until Ray tugs at his hair in frustration. Nate takes the hint for what it’s worth, moving back up Ray’s cock to wrap his lips around the head and suck lightly, his tongue rubbing against the slit.

  


Groaning, Ray lets his head thump back against the door and tugs at Nate’s hair again. He moans as Nate takes his cock deeper into his mouth, his tongue rubbing against the veiny underside, and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks. Ray touches his fingers to Nate’s cheek, thumbing it lightly when he feels his cock in Nate’s mouth. “More.”

  


Humming, Nate curls his fingers around the base of Ray’s cock and holds it in place. He pulls off long enough to lave his tongue over the head, smearing spit and precome, before he swallows Ray back down. Nate takes him deeper, his lips reaching his hand easily. He sucks hard as he eases off again, bobbing his head slowly. Nate’s fingers loosen, sliding easily over Ray’s shaft through spit. Ray has to tighten his fingers in Nate’s hair just to hold on.

  


Nate moans around Ray’s cock, jacking him off in time with the bobbing of his head. He sucks hard, thumbing at Ray’s balls before tugging them lightly, but it’s not until Nate starts to hum loudly does Ray come with a bitten off groan and a rough shove of his hips, trying to get as deep into Nate as possible. Nate just lets Ray, his eyes watering as he chokes, but he doesn’t pull off to suck in a sharp breath until after Ray’s done coming down his throat.

  


”Fuck,” Ray groans, carding his fingers through Nate’s hair messily when Nate pulls back. He moans when Nate runs his tongue along Ray’s cock, lapping away at the wet mess, and Ray has to push Nate away to get him to stop. “You should forever be doing that.”

  


”Maybe,” Nate says, tucking Ray back into his shorts carefully and smiling up at him. “But then you couldn’t fuck me until I scream myself hoarse,” he adds, his cheeks turning an impossibly darker shade of red, and Ray will admit he has a point. Nate doesn’t move though, not beyond kissing Ray’s belly softly and mouthing at the line of Ray’s hipbone.

  


There’s a comment on the tip of Ray’s tongue about how Nate has gone from hesitant and aggressive to willing and teasing in almost the blink of an eye, but Ray’s made sharper about turns when it’s come to sex before. It’s not a bad thing, he doesn’t think, and for a few moments he’s content to just run his fingers through Nate’s hair and try to catch his breath again.

  


”Kitchen,” Ray says after a moment, tugging at Nate’s hair and urging him to move up. He rolls his eyes when Nate leans in for a hesitant kiss and bites at Nate’s lower lip in response. He curls his fingers in Nate’s belt loops after tugging his jeans back up and zipping them halfheartedly, before he stumbles through the hall backwards to lead the way to his destination.

  


They don’t stop kissing as they move, Ray nipping and sucking at Nate’s tongue, chasing away the taste of his own come until the only flavor left is Nate himself. They stumble, the difference in their heights not exactly making it easy, but Nate makes needy little noises in the back of his throat and Ray has a hard time caring. They make it work and that’s good enough for him.

  


It’s easy to lose himself in the way Nate’s tongue curls against his own, skimming lightly before darting away, and the way Nate’s body feels so hot pressed against Ray’s own. It’s distraction enough for Ray to bite his own tongue when he hears Brad’s low growl of ” _What the fuck_ ”, and he does his best to flash Brad a cheeky grin when he breaks the kiss with Nate. His cheeks are flushed and he’s out of breath, but it’s worth it. “Sup, homes?”

”Ray,” Brad says, his voice low and cold and his eyes narrowed. His glare is fixated on Ray, the clench in his jaw terrifying and Ray worries about a blood vessel bursting in Brad’s temple. For all intents and purposes, he’s ignoring Nate, but it doesn’t stop Nate from freezing like a deer in the headlights behind Ray’s back.

  


Ray’s reaching back to curl his fingers around Nate’s wrist lightly before he even thinks about it, holding on. It’s not reassuring, not really, not for Nate. Ray seriously doubts Brad’s carrying right now and even if he was, it’s not Nate that would get shot in the head. Holding up his other hand in a placating gesture, Ray smiles at Brad. “Look who I found wandering around where he shouldn’t.”

  


Brad’s look is still steely, just  _daring_  Ray to continue to be a smartass. It isn’t worth it, not really, but Ray is petulant when he wants to be. Brad takes a step closer and instinctively, Ray straightens up, and to his surprise, so does Nate. They both spare Nate a quick look, taking in his own determined gaze, before Brad and Ray look at each other again. “Why is he  _here_ , Ray?”

  


”Because I didn’t realize I couldn’t fuck whoever I wanted to in my own home,” Ray replies. He lets go of Nate’s wrist, because Nate doesn’t need him, apparently, to fold his arms over his chest and look up at Brad stubbornly. “If he was anyone else, would you be complaining this much?”

  


For a moment, Brad is quiet. He turns on his heel to go to the fridge, pulling something out before slamming it shut. He shoves Nate a water bottle before ordering him to  _sit_ , which Nate stubbornly refuses to do. “I will shoot you in the face if you don’t listen to me,” Brad says, and Ray isn’t sure which one of them he’s actually talking to, but Nate narrows his eyes and moves to sit at the kitchen table.

  


Grabbing the front of Ray’s shirt, Brad drags him until he can throw him back into a counter and pin him in place. His voice is lower when he speaks, barely a growl, and Ray can’t remember the last time he saw Brad this pissed off. “He can’t be here,” Brad says, grabbing Ray’s chin hard enough to ache, forcing Ray to make eye contact. “What the fuck were you thinking? He could get us both killed.”

  


Ray squirms, fighting against Brad, but he’s kind of helpless to move away when Brad is pressed so close and his fingers are bruising tight. “The only reason you’re so pissed off is – ah – “ Ray lashes out at Brad when the grip on his face tightens, punching his chest roughly. “ – don’t even pretend you haven’t been thinking about this every night since he offered and you had to be such a goddamn moral dick and turn him down!”

  


Nate makes a sound and the cap of his water bottle flies across the room and hits one of the cabinets. It has both Brad and Ray turning to look at him sharply, and Nate reigns in his surprised look to an impassive one. “I can go, if this is going to be a problem.”

  


”You’re not going anywhere,” Ray snaps, right as Brad says, “Leave.”

  


Brad and Ray share a look and Ray hits Brad in the chest again before deciding to change tactics. He traces his fingers along Brad’s jaw until he can touch the tips to Brad’s lips, silencing him. Trailing his fingers down Brad’s chest slowly, Ray ignores Brad’s wary looks and leans up to nibble at his jaw. “Brad, stop for just a second and think about this.”

  


”The last time I listened to you when you told me to think about something you were fucking the hostage we were keeping in our basement,” Brad reminds, tipping his head away from Ray and glaring at the wall behind him. “He’s not staying here. Do you have any fucking idea how much danger you’ve put  _both_  of us in by bringing him here?”

  


”Nate is harmless,” Ray counters, then glances at Nate. “No offense.” He smirks when Nate shrugs his shoulders vaguely and just takes a sip from his water, before turning his attention back to Brad. He slips his fingers up under Brad’s shirt to touch his stomach, trace the lines of his hips. “Nate isn’t going to hurt us and you know it. There’s nothing for him to gain from it.”

  


”Except the death of the men who kidnapped him, threatened to kill him and took advantage of him when he was helpless to stop him,” Brad replies darkly. “Not including all the threats we’ve made against his father and his family on Godfather’s behalf.”

  


”You would kill me before any of that came back on you,” Nate says, causing Brad and Ray to turn and look at him again. Nate puts his bottle on the table carefully before standing up. “Except there’s one major difference about me being here this time.” He watches them quietly, but when neither Brad or Ray move, Nate drops his hands to his belt and starts to undo it slowly. “I came here willingly.”

  


”Nate,” Brad starts, but he cuts himself off with a startled sound when Ray gropes him through his jeans, squeezing Brad’s cock roughly. Brad catches Ray’s hand to stop him, squeezing the bones in Ray’s hands until it hurts. “Goddammit, Ray.”

  


”Nate and I are going to have sex,” Ray says, and he has a hard time paying attention to Brad when Nate is pulling his belt through the loops and starts to tug his shirt up. “You can fuck off if you don’t want to watch or join in, but he wants you here. He wants _you_  to hold him down and fuck him and don’t you fucking lie to me and say you don’t want to do it to him.”

  


Brad is pointedly staring at Ray’s face instead of looking back towards Nate, his jaw clenching and unclenching visibly while he tries to control himself. He squeezes Ray’s hand until Ray makes a pained sound, against his will, and Brad lets go of Ray completely, taking a step back. “I  _don’t_ ,” Brad says vehemently.

  


Ray just rolls his eyes and steps close to Brad, recovering the lost space, reclaiming it. He grabs Brad’s belt loops and holds on, keeping him in place. “Brad. Nate is here willingly, asking for us to do all the things we wanted to do anyways. He’s not drugged. He’s not coerced. He’s had a little bit to drink, but fuck, so have I and I bet you’ve been nursing your vodka again.” Ray quirks an eye when Brad scowls and reaches up to cup his jaw, drag his thumb against Brad’s lower lip and tip his head over to where Nate is standing shirtless and looking at them expectantly. “Just one night, Brad. You both get this out of your systems and everything is okay again.”

  


It takes a pointed look from Ray for Brad to look over at Nate and a smug little smile appears on Nate’s face. Brad makes a small sound, almost inaudible, and Ray knows he’s won. Brad has wanted this for far too long to pass up the chance now that Nate is here willingly and of his own accord. Even if, arguably, Brad could be moaning about anyone in his sleep, fisting the sheets, or when he’s obviously not all there when he’s got Ray beneath him, around him, it’s impossible to miss the look of obvious want in his eyes when he watches Nate now.

  


Brad wants Nate. He just needs a push in the right direction to be able to go and get him. A push Ray is more than willing to give, metaphorically and physically. Brad glares when Ray shoves at his chest, but he makes his way over to Nate cautiously. He doesn’t touch Nate until Nate nods, and his fingers skim up Nate’s hips and sides delicately. He leans in to kiss the crook of Nate’s neck and shoulder, but it’s a barely there touch designed to bring Nate close.

  


For a moment, they all stay still. Ray can’t see Brad’s face, can’t see what he’s doing, but it’s enough for Nate’s cheeks to flush and for him to suck in a sharp breath, and he pushes himself up onto his toes to be closer to Brad. Nate grabs Brad’s shoulders, fingers twisting into his shirt and holding on and Brad is grabbing Nate’s hips, stroking his thumbs along Nate’s naked hipbones slowly.

  


It’s a go, Ray thinks, until Brad pushes Nate away and fixes him with a serious look. Nate freezes, but doesn’t let go of Brad, and Ray isn’t surprised when Brad shoots him the same dark look. “One time,” he says seriously, glancing between Ray and Nate to check he has their attentions, like they could be looking at anyone besides Brad anyways. “And you,” Brad says, looking at Nate specifically, “will have a safe word.”

  


”That’s fine by me,” Ray says, moving to get closer, but he freezes when Nate looks up at Brad, a little lost, and asks, “a – what?” If there is anything else in the universe to get Brad to shut down so quickly and completely, Ray can’t possibly think of what it is.

  


”Fuck it,” Brad says, dropping Nate’s hips. He steps back to move away, but Nate clings to him and doesn’t let him go. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re asking for here – “

  


”I know what a safe word is,” Nate flushes, in embarrassment or anger, Ray isn’t sure. He slides his hands from Brad’s shoulders to his elbows, his wrists, dragging him in close and kissing his jaw. “I just. Thought it would be like last time.” Quieter, almost meekly, he adds, “I didn’t think we’d need one.”

  


”By all rights, you should have had one last time,” Brad mutters. He lets Nate drag his hands and tuck them into Nate’s back pockets, Brad’s fingers curling slightly before he squeezes Nate’s ass. It makes Nate’s hips arch forward, a soft sound escaping him, and Brad looks a little torn. “Pick a word, Nate.”

  


Nate flounders for a second, curling his fingers into Brad’s shirt again as he tries to think. He looks over at Ray, but the only thing Ray can think to do is shrug his shoulders weakly. It’s up to Nate to choose the word, because it has to be something that he’ll remember on his own. Nate only looks helpless for a heartbeat though, before he’s biting his lip and looking up at Brad thoughtfully. “Montana.”

  


”Montana,” Brad repeats slowly, waiting for Nate to nod his head. “You don’t have to explain it,” he adds, when Nate opens his mouth, and it silences Nate. “Montana. Nothing but fucking country music and wannabe cowboys.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust and Nate has to bite back a laugh. “And if your mouth is full?” Brad asks, quirking an eyebrow.

  


Ray can’t help but laugh as Nate blushes at the implications, and he wonders exactly what kind of things Nate usually gets up to when he’s naked and writhing around with other people. When Nate doesn’t seem to be able to move past his confusion, Ray takes pity on him and snaps, drawing both Nate and Brad’s attention to himself. “He wants you to snap.”

  


”Ray – “ Brad starts, and Ray can’t tell if Brad is annoyed at him for choosing for Nate or relieved that he helped Nate out and they aren’t going to have to call it quits. A mixture of both, probably.

  


”Brad,” Ray says, cutting him off. He glances at Nate slowly, pointedly, before looking over at Brad again. He means  _This is Nate, he’s probably never done this before_ , and Brad is smart enough to figure out Ray’s intentions. “Now that we have that established, can we move onto the kinky fun part of the night?”

  


”I like Ray’s plan,” Nate chimes in, flashing Ray a relieved smile. He holds up his fingers and snaps before Brad can even ask, leaning in to nip at Brad’s jaw, his lower lip. He makes a distressed sound when Brad pushes him back, his confusion obvious.

  


”Ray,” Brad says, glancing away from Nate to look over at Ray. “You are the one who had the brilliant plan here. I assume there was a specific course you planned on taking after you seduced Nate and coerced myself.”

  


”If that was seduction, then Nate’s just kind of easy,” Ray says, clucking his tongue lightly. He grins when Nate scowls at him. “I did in fact have a plan though,” Ray continues, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his jeans, making a triumphant sound when he finds a strip of condoms. He holds them up for Brad and Nate to see – Brad rolling his eyes and Nate grinning slowly – before he points a finger at Nate. “You, get naked and get on the table.”

  


”Will it hold me?” Nate asks incredulously, glancing at the wooden kitchen table but he’s already dropped down to unlace his boots and kick them off, toeing his socks off quickly as well before he stands back up and works on the button of his jeans. He’s less embarrassed as he undresses this time in front of them, less hesitant, and Ray thinks that is a very good sign.

  


”It’s held Brad’s ass in the past,” Ray replies easily. He holds the condoms between his teeth as he strips out of his jacket, his shirt, toeing off his own boots and socks before moving towards Nate. He grabs Nate’s hips, urging him backward, glancing up and down Nate’s body before making a thumbs up at Brad.

  


Brad rolls his eyes, as always, but he strips out of his shirt and drapes it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “I don’t suppose you happen to have any lube in your jacket as well,” Brad says wryly.

  


Ray helps Nate push himself up on top of the kitchen table before taking the condoms from his mouth and laying them down by Nate. “We’re in a kitchen,” Ray says, guiding Nate’s hips back a little further and urging him to lie down. He kisses one of Nate’s knees lightly, winking down at Nate. “I’m sure we’ve got something that’ll do the job.”

  


”Jesus Christ, Ray,” Brad says, scowling at him. He lets Nate reach for him, tug him in by a belt loop, and Brad is moving his hand to smooth down Nate’s hair as soon as he’s close enough. “You’re not going to slick him up with olive oil.”

  


”Then I’ll rim him,” Ray shoots back, rolling his eyes. He bites back a comment about how Nate’s not a delicate flower and he’s a college student, he’s probably used weirder, but then he remembers Nate’s not really a bottom. Ray wonders if Nate’s over been in a position ever remotely similar to this, but he realizes he doesn’t care, because Nate’s thighs and ass clench at the mere mention of being rimmed.

  


Which, Ray thinks, is very, very promising. Dragging a chair closer so he can kneel on it, Ray spreads Nate’s legs wider and starts to kiss the inside of his thigh gently, licking a line towards Nate’s groin before biting lightly. “Have you ever been rimmed before, Nate?”

  


Nate’s body goes tense again, which is more than answer enough. When he says “no” it’s quiet, almost embarrassed, and Brad and Ray share a look. Nate pointedly ignores them, instead shifting his weight closer to the edge of the table and Brad, trying to get the front of Brad’s jeans opened with one hand.

  


Ray watches him for a second, before looking back up at Brad, who is watching Nate with an intense sort of devotion. “Do you want to - ?” He asks Brad, but Brad ignores him in favor of covering Nate’s hand with his own and helping him undo Brad’s belt and the button on his jeans.

  


”Go ahead,” Brad says as soon as his belt is through the loops and draped across Nate’s chest and his zipper is pulled down. “I think Nate has other ideas and who am I to object?”

  


”I’m sure this is just absolutely terrible for you,” Ray replies wryly, rolling his eyes. He nips at the soft skin of Nate’s inner thigh lightly, which causes Nate to tense up, and Ray bites down again. He takes his time biting his way alongside the inside of Nate’s thigh, sucking red marks into the skin every now and then and urging Nate’s thighs farther apart.

  


Lightly, Ray licks a line along the crease of Nate’s thigh and groin, but his moan is muffled. Ray looks up to see Nate, face flushed and eyes closed, with his lips wrapped around the head of Brad’s cock. It’s impossibly obscene in the best kind of way and Ray groans lightly in appreciation. He kisses Nate’s skin gently then mouths at his balls, sucking lightly until Nate moans again.

  


”Don’t be a tease, Ray,” Brad says, but he sound distracted – and with good reason. His fingers are tangled in Nate’s hair, jeans slung low on his hips, and he rocks forward to press his cock a little deeper into Nate’s mouth with each thrust.

  


Nate just lets Brad, which is the best part, closing his eyes and moaning in appreciation or encouragement. He’s a good boy, Ray thinks idly, and it’s enough encouragement of Ray’s own for him to spread Nate open with his thumbs and lick him. Nate’s hips jump, a startled sound escaping him, and Ray laughs lightly while Brad curses.

  


”Teeth,” Brad hisses, and Nate pulls off long enough to whimper a string of apologies. Brad ignores him, tightening his fingers in Nate’s hair until Nate cries out lightly. He grips the base of his cock, rubbing the head against Nate’s lips. He makes a small sound when Nate swallows him down again, and Brad starts thrusting in harder.

  


Ray watches for a moment, his own cock twitching in interest as he remembers exactly  _what_  Nate can do with his tongue, before he shakes his head to snap out of it. He thumbs Nate open again, leaning in and licking again, lighter, smirking when Nate clenches against his tongue.

  


He licks broad strokes all the way up to the base of Nate’s balls, mouthing a wet kiss to the skin, before he goes back to licking around Nate’s rim. Spearing his tongue, he tries to ease it inside of Nate, and it has Nate’s hips jerking up off the table again and he moans around Brad’s cock. There’s an accompanying groan from Brad, so Ray assumes Nate was mindful of his teeth this time. He keeps pressing in with his tongue, spitting against Nate’s skin when he pulls off to ease a finger in instead.

  


Nate clenches around Ray’s finger, moaning again, and Ray can’t wait to feel that around his cock. That will be awesome, Ray thinks idly, distracted, and so good; hot and tight. He fucks Nate with one finger, crooking and dragging it, and he licks Nate’s rim around it, pushing his spit in and slicking him up easily.

  


The sounds Nate makes are impossibly good and tempting, moaning around Brad’s cock like a cheap whore, and Ray is startled by a sharp slap of skin. When he looks up, Brad has one of Nate’s wrists pinned to the table and Nate is arching his hips up in frustration, trying to find something to rub against his hard cock.

  


Smirking, Ray takes pity on him. He slides a second finger inside of Nate then moves up to suck at Nate’s balls. The moan drags out of Nate is even louder, and Ray watches as Brad’s cock slides deeper into Nate’s mouth, until Nate’s lips are stretched impossibly and his eyes are starting to water as he struggles to swallow around Brad’s cock. Nate doesn’t tell them to stop, not even when Ray rubs his fingers mercilessly against Nate’s prostate or wraps his lips around Nate’s cock and sucks him down.

  


Nate is falling apart between them, under and around them. His ass clenches so tight around Ray’s fingers it almost hurts at the same time he tries to rock his hips up to force his cock even deeper into Ray’s mouth before Ray shoves his hips back down to the table. Nate moans, breathless and needy, but he doesn’t stop sucking Brad until he needs to pull back and suck in a sharp breath, but even then it’s only for a second before Brad starts fucking his cock back into Nate’s mouth as deep as he can go.

  


When Nate is close, whining and tightening around Ray, Ray pulls off. He licks his lips, slowly, and starts mouthing kisses against Nate’s hips. He doesn’t stop fucking Nate with his fingers, but he tugs at Nate’s balls roughly to keep him from coming. “Not until I’m done fucking you,” he says, his voice hoarse, and Nate doesn’t have time to object before Brad is coming down his throat with a rough grinding of his hips and a groan.

  


Ray pulls his fingers out of Nate slowly, but he doesn’t move to actually fuck Nate. He waits until Brad is done coming, his fingers curled tight in Nate’s hair and Nate’s soft whimpers sounding through the kitchen, just petting Nate’s hip lightly. “I fucking told you about his mouth,” Ray says smugly and he doesn’t even care that Brad is glaring at him.

  


”Are you going to fuck him or not?” Brad asks, pulling out of Nate slowly. He wipes a finger over Nate’s cheek, catching spit and come, and pushes them back up into Nate’s mouth. He groans when Nate’s tongue flicks out, tasting him, and Nate swallows obediently.

  


”In a minute,” Ray says. He grabs the condoms, tugging the strip between his teeth, and pushes the chair away from him. Standing, he grabs Brad’s belt and rolls it over once, snapping Nate’s side with it. “Get on your stomach so I can fuck your pretty little ass already.”

  


It takes Nate a second to respond, sucking in sharp breathes, and it takes even longer for him to figure out how to roll over without toppling off the wrong side of the table. He makes a startled sound when Ray grabs his hips, pulling him closer to the edge.

  


”One day, you will be tied to the bedposts and spread open and completely helpless,” Ray says wistfully, ignoring the warning look Brad is sending him. He lets the condoms fall onto Nate’s back before reaching for his wrists and tugging them into place. “I am going to tie you up. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  


Nate opts not to say anything, instead pressing his wrists together and holding them out for Ray to tie up dutifully. He wiggles his hips when Ray binds them, making a small, impatient sound. “I thought you were going to fuck me.”

  


”Yes, Ray,” Brad says, smirking up at Ray. “I thought you were going to fuck him.” He smooths his fingers through Nate’s hair, straightening the messy locks, Nate tipping his head into the touch and moaning softly.

  


”You’re both unappreciative pussies,” Ray scowls. He rips open a condom and rolls it on, spitting in his hand and jacking his cock a few times. He grabs Nate’s hip with one hand, checking the binding of the belt with the other, then trails his fingers down Nate’s spine and to his ass, slipping them inside of him easily. “I should make you beg for it.”

  


”Ray, would you please – “ Nate starts, but his words break into a moan as Ray lines up and pushes into him. “Fuck,” Nate breathes out, trying to push himself up onto his toes for leverage, to be able to rock back for more.

  


Ray slaps Nate’s ass, which startles Nate and has him clenching around Ray’s cock in response. Ray groans, grabbing Nate’s hips with both hands, and gives up on easing into him slowly. Digging his nails in tight, Ray slams his hips forward and slides deeper into Nate. He doesn’t give him time to adjust, pulling out and thrusting in again, working his cock inside of Nate with every shove until he’s buried to the hilt.

  


”Patience is a virtue,” Brad says wryly, but he doesn’t tell Ray to stop, and Ray has no intentions of pulling out unless Nate tells him to stop or uses the safe word. Brad doesn’t object, drawing himself up a chair and plopping down in front of Nate, running his fingers through Nate’s hair before leaning in to whisper in Nate’s ear.

  


Whatever Brad is saying, Ray can’t hear, but it makes Nate moan loudly and clench around Ray’s cock. Brad doesn’t stop, either, glancing up at Ray and smirking suggestively before licking Nate’s ear and going back to whispering his secrets. Ray doesn’t care, he has Nate tight and hot around him and Ray is more than willing to fuck into him mindlessly and losing himself to the sensation.

  


This is Nate Fick doubled over a table for Ray, moaning like a whore or cheap porn or something else equally unbefitting of his class, Ray doesn’t care what. He just loves the way Nate sounds, moaning and groaning and crying out with every thrust of Ray’s cock, the way he clenches and tries to rock back for more. Nate’s better than any whore or twink in a bar though, so good, and Ray can’t work up the energy to be amazed that he has the Senator’s son taking his cock so easily again right now when there are other things to focus on.

  


Ray has to force himself to unclench his fingers, to move his hand from Nate’s hip to his shoulder, but he digs his nails in just as tightly. It’s a stretch, forcing Ray up onto the balls of his feet, but it’s easier to drag Nate back over the surface of the table and onto Ray’s cock, punching a near howl out of Nate when he hits his prostate hard. He drags Nate where he wants him, manhandling him with ease enough, and Ray nearly bites his tongue when Nate clenches tighter around him, sobbing his release.

  


Laughing breathlessly, hysterically, Ray doesn’t stop fucking Nate’s tight ass until he feels the white heat building up in the base of his spine, his balls, and he doesn’t even try to hold off his own orgasm, not when Nate’s fluttering and clenching around him so wonderfully. He keeps pumping his hips until he’s done coming, doubling over Nate’s back to press kisses into his sweaty skin, moaning softly.

  


For a moment, no one moves, Ray and Nate just trying to catch their breaths. Then, Ray feels Brad’s fingers on the back of his neck and he tips his head to the side to look at him, but Brad is leaning in for a hungry, possessive kiss. There’s nothing for Ray to do but whimper and let Brad bite at his lips, his tongue, his body completely slack under Brad’s touch.

  


When the kiss breaks, Ray feels like he’s never going to have enough oxygen in his body again. His knees are wobbly when he pushes himself up onto his elbows and he pulls out of Nate carefully, mouthing kisses into Nate’s shoulder when Nate moans his objection. “Brad’s got you,” Ray murmurs, licking the sweaty skin. “It’s okay, Nate, shh.”

  


It takes everything in Ray not to just roll over and flop onto the table next to Nate. He’s surprised and relieved when Brad drags a chair closer, but Ray sinks into it in relief as soon as it’s close enough. He melts back into the chair, letting his used condom slip to the floor and not giving a single fuck. Ray watches Nate squirm impatiently through half-lidded eyes, and he wonders if Nate’s stamina is really that incredible or if he’s just wanted Brad too badly for too long.

  


”Jesus Christ,” Brad mutters, his fingers slipping into Nate easily, two, three – and after a moment of work, four – until both of them make a small sound. Brad’s fingers tremble slightly as he grabs a condom, but he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again, he’s got control of himself again. He glances at Ray when he jacks his cock slowly, getting it hard before he rolls on the condom. He doesn’t say anything, and Ray is glad, because he’s not sure he’s coherent enough to form words right now.

  


When Brad eases into Nate, he takes his time, his breathing rough but under control. He holds Nate’s hip, petting it lightly, and doesn’t stop pushing into him until he’s buried deep, his hips flush against Nate’s ass. They both moan, and Ray feels a little bit smug, because he has the best seat in the house for the most awesome show ever.

  


Brad takes his time at first, fucking into Nate with slow, measured thrusts. It’s to give him time to adjust, Ray thinks, to catch his breath and not fry his brain from too much at once. Brad’s always been more considerate about these kinds of things, but then again, there’s a reason Ray almost always goes first when they share. Impatience is just one factor.

  


Slowly though, as Brad gets more confident and Nate’s cock starts to swell between his legs again, Brad’s thrusts start to come harder and faster. He digs his fingers into Nate’s hips and holds him in place when he starts to pound into him. Brad’s soft grunts are almost lost to the breathless, needy sounds Nate is making, and Ray has to bite his lip and groan because he wishes he could get off again but it would probably kill him.

  


Eventually, Brad’s fingers make it up Nate’s body, scratching along Nate’s ribs, detouring to slap his ass a few times while Nate cries out and clenches, but slowly they make their way to Nate’s hair again. Brad tugs, roughly, jerking Nate’s head back, and Nate cries out loudly at the treatment. It’s got him hard though, struggling to rock back to meet every move of Brad’s hips.

  


Brad comes like that, hips stuttering into Nate’s warm body as he curses, fingers tangled in Nate’s hair and forcing him down against the table. Brad doesn’t stop, rocking into Nate slowly even after he’s finished, and he pulls out with a tired groan. He slaps Nate’s ass when Nate whimpers, untangling his fingers from Nate’s hair slowly.

  


To Ray’s surprise, Brad tugs the belt binding Nate’s wrists together loose and helps Nate roll over onto his back again. Nate looks useless and spent, and even though he’s rubbing at his red wrists, it’s obvious he’s itching to touch himself. He manages to hold off until Brad tells him to do it, to get himself off and come all over himself, and it only takes a few strokes before Nate is losing it, his toes curling, his arching up and moaning brokenly.

  


It occurs to Ray that Nate is probably thirsty, but his water bottle was knocked off the table at some point and it rolled halfway across the kitchen, leaving a wet puddle in its wake. Pushing himself to his feet, Ray snags Brad’s shirt off the back of the chair it’s on and uses it as a mop. He doesn’t have to look to know that Brad is glaring at him about it, and Ray moves to grab water bottles from the fridge.

  


Opening one, he hands it to Nate, but Nate is too feeble to do anything but moan his thanks, so Ray lets it sit on the table beside him with the cap back on. Opening the second, he downs most of it in a few gulps and lets Brad snag it when he’s done.

  


”Ray,” Brad says quietly, setting the bottle on the table. He waits until Ray stops pulling on his jeans and looks at him before he tips his head in the direction of the living room, but he doesn’t wait for Ray’s  _Message received and understood_. He stops long enough to grab his jeans off the chair they were draped over, pulling them on quickly before he leaves the room.

  


Nate is dead to the world, his eyes half-lidded and chest heaving. Ray presses a finger to his nose, leaning in to kiss Nate’s forehead and mutters “ _Wait here_ ” before following Brad into the living room. “What’s up, Iceman?”

  


”Don’t you ever fucking dare pull a stunt like that again,” Brad says, curling his fingers around Ray’s shoulder and slamming him back into the wall. He growls when Ray flounders, and it’s not fucking fair that someone who just had two awesome orgasms should still be able to manhandle Ray like this. “Or I swear I will kill you myself.”

  


”Fuck you,” Ray snaps, tugging Brad’s hand from his shoulder. He puts his hand in the center of Brad’s chest and pushes, but Brad barely budges – which is the only way he knows Brad’s post-coital state has affected him at all. “He wanted to get this out of his system and I was tired of you pouting like a little bitch because you missed fucking his tight ass last time.”

  


Brad goes tense, his expression guarded and even with the years of practice and ease between them, it’s hard for Ray to see past this mask. “I couldn’t,” Brad says, moving to step away from Ray, but he stops when Ray grabs his hips and drags him in close. “Ray, you know why I couldn’t.” It’s softer this time, almost pleading.

  


”Brad,” Ray says, pushing up onto his tiptoes to kiss Brad’s jaw lightly. “Brad, it’s okay, I know.” He does know, too, even if he doesn’t exactly agree with Brad’s reasoning behind it. But Brad isn’t Ray, he’s got a strict moral code and he sticks to it as best he can, despite their job. Brad’s a good person, underneath all the masks and web of lies. “You needed this now though, and even you can’t deny it.”

  


Brad doesn’t say anything, but presses Ray back against the wall and holds him there. He’s not crushing Ray, and he’s not quite leaning on him, but Ray likes the smothering feeling of knowing he’s got Brad this close. It feels safe, protective. Brad just nuzzles against Ray’s temple lightly and sighs into his hairline.

  


Ray doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, the two of them pressed together and just breathing, but Brad goes tense one second and his arms are tightened on either side of Ray. “Nate,” he says, and Ray has to push Brad away to see Nate standing a few feet away, fully dressed and looking a little awkward.

  


”You still have my keys,” Nate says, shoving his hands in his jean pockets and smiling faintly. There’s a languidness to his movements that’s impossible to deny, his skin still flushed and his hair mussed up and standing every which way. He reeks of sex and anyone who so much as glances at him is going to know he just got the sex of his life. “I already checked your clothes in the kitchen.”

  


Ray debates asking what Nate told his parents before he snuck out, because he seriously doubts they would have let him leave if they knew his plans, but he decides against it. He pushes Brad away from him with a light shove, leaning up to give him a quick nip to the jaw before he’s at Nate’s side and looping an arm around his neck. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  


”I’m sure I could find it on my own,” Nate says idly, but he doesn’t push Ray away. He hesitates, shooting Brad a look, before he wraps an arm around Ray’s waist. Ray would laugh at Nate’s hesitance, but he has more urgent plans, and those require them to be far away from Brad. Nate doesn’t say anything else and lets himself be lead through the house and out the side door.

  


”If you give me your phone, I’ll give you your keys back,” Ray says once their outside, his eyes skimming the fence line quickly, more out of habit than anything else. Nate doesn’t say anything as Ray checks the perimeter, but his eyes follow the path Ray’s just took and Ray thinks Nate is a smarter cookie than he gave him credit for.

  


”I need my phone,” Nate says slowly, but he pulls it out of his pocket anyways to hand it over to Ray in exchange for his keys. He watches quietly as Ray turns it on, waiting patiently while Ray keys in his number before handing it back. “What was that for?”

  


”In case you change your mind and once wasn’t enough to get this out of your system,” Ray replies, shrugging his shoulders impassively. Ray’s seen guys like Nate before, and he knows for a fact that Nate will be back for more. It’s only a matter of time before Nate gives in, and Ray really hopes Nate is smart and calls him instead of wandering off into a bar on his own again. “Call, don’t call. This is on your terms.”

  


”You think Brad would be okay with that?” Nate asks, quirking an eyebrow. He squeezes his phone lightly before tucking it back into his pocket. “He seemed pretty pissed.”

  


”Brad’s easy enough to deal with,” Ray says. “He just needs incentive. And maybe for you to forget you ever saw the house again or know where it’s at.” He gives Nate a pointed look and Nate nods his head in understanding, biting at his lip. “If there is a next time, I know a hotel or two that are sure to be classy enough for your standards.”

  


”It’s more the discretion I’m worried about,” Nate admits and Ray just gives Nate another look, because he’s more than smart enough to know to pick a place where people are paid to look the other way. Nate hesitates for a second, torn between climbing in his car and saying something. In the end, he looks at Ray once, quickly, before looking out across the yard. “Thank you.”

  


”Don’t mention it,” Ray says wryly, and he lets the subject drop. He wasn’t exactly doing this out of the goodness or his heart or purely selfless reasons. Yes, Brad needed it and Nate could have gotten seriously hurt, but Ray would be an idiot to turn down someone as pretty and willing as Nate. “Go home.”

  


Nate rolls his eyes, but he climbs into his car without another word. It takes him a moment to get it to start and to buckle his seatbelt, and Ray stands to the side and watches the Volvo until it disappears out of sight.

  


When he finally turns around to go back inside, Brad is nowhere to be seen, and Ray is too tired to play hide and seek with him right now. He stops in the kitchen long enough to grab another bottle of water and sips from it as he makes his way upstairs to his room. He collapses on top of his covers without getting undressed, and he passes out before he gets the chance to roll onto his back.


	9. Ray

Brad isn’t anywhere in the house that Ray can find the next morning when Ray goes searching for him. The clothes have been picked up off the floor, the water mopped up, and the table wiped down, so Ray is pretty sure Brad was at least here at some point, but he can’t find any sign of where Brad might have gone.

  


It’s not until Ray makes his way to the garage and finds that Brad’s Yamaha R1 is missing from its usual corner that Ray is forced to accept that maybe Brad isn’t home and that Brad is probably pissed off at him. Brad doesn’t take the bike out for no reason at all, and even then, if he’s just wandering around the city he would have taken the Ducati.

  


It’s surprisingly difficult not to be petty and kick the Aston Martin on his way back into the house, but Brad has a psychic connection to the stupid car and he’d know if Ray so much as breathed on it. Ray does drag his fingers over the windows, watching them smudge, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

  


It’s weird being in the large house all by himself. It feels so daunting and empty when he knows Brad isn’t lurking around a corner in the main living room or in his office. It’s creepy and uncomfortable, and Ray wonders how Brad could possibly stand living here by himself before Ray came along. It had to have sucked.

  


Really, Ray can’t think of any alternative solution to his problem. Being home alone when he’s pretty sure Brad is mad at him and with no idea of when Brad will get back just sounds terrible. No amount of  _Halo_  or  _Call of Duty_  would amuse him at this point. Clearly, the universe doesn’t want him to be at the house by himself and if he’s not at the house, there’s really only one other place he could go.

  


Ray doesn’t bother to call Hoosier before he heads out, just hops in his truck and pulls out. Hoosier has no room to complain about Ray showing up unannounced, not after their shared history. And Leckie – well, Ray thinks he’s finally starting to grow on Leckie. If you can’t beat them, join them, after all.

  
\- - -  


”So let me get this straight,” Hoosier says slowly, his body curled towards Ray and one arm over the back of the couch, nursing a beer with his free hand. “You had sex with the guy that’s had Brad’s panties in a bunch for the last three months and now he’s pissed off at you?”

  


”I  _dare_  you to say the panty thing in front of Brad,” Ray laughs, taking a sip of his own beer. He relaxes into the couch cushions, staring pointedly at the cheap porn playing on the TV. It’s not Ray’s fault it’s playing, Hoosier didn’t put it on because Ray came over, but it doesn’t stop Leckie from glaring at Ray from where he’s working on something at the dining room table.

  


Leckie just really hates Ray, and Ray isn’t entirely sure why, but he thinks it has a little to do with the porn Hoosier is always watching as background noise. Leckie says Ray is an enabler, which isn’t fair, because Hoosier was doing this long before he and Ray became friends. Definitely longer than when Leckie started sleeping with him.

  


”I don’t even know, homes,” Ray says after a minute, wiping at his face tiredly. It’s not even noon and he’s drinking. He feels like that says something about the sad state affairs of his life, but Ray’s not entirely sure what. He just knows he’s absolutely  _not_ moping like a teenage girl like Leckie accuses him doing. “You’d think the asshole would be grateful to me for even finding Nate again.”

  


”How did you even manage that?” Hoosier asks, frowning. He doesn’t know the full details of what happened in the basement, but he’s smart enough to piece together all of the ones that matter. “I always imagined Brad would be the stalker in your relationship.”

  


”It’s not stalking, it’s  _surveillance and research_ ,” Ray says, air quoting as best he can with a bottle of beer in his hand. He rolls his eyes and Hoosier snorts derisively, not that Ray blames him. “I swear on my grandmomma’s grave that it was a pure coincidence that I ran into Nate, though.”

  


Hoosier makes a sound, like maybe he doesn’t believe Ray, and Ray’s too tired to care if he does or doesn’t. He drums his fingers against the back cushion of the leather couch, sipping at his beer again. For a moment, Hoosier’s attention is caught on the busty blonde on the TV screen and her cheap moan, but he side-eyes Ray again and asks the question that Leckie’s probably been dying to know the answer to since Ray showed up out of the blue. “Do you plan on sticking around for a few days?”

  


Ray’s been waiting to hear the question, but he has absolutely no idea how he’s supposed to respond to that. He doesn’t know where Brad is, doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone or if he’ll even stick around when he gets back. Someone has to feed the stupid koi if Brad’s taking off to Florida or California again, but Ray really hates being alone in the house. It just feels like he’s asking an axe-murderer to show up and kill him.

  


Not that Ray would be taken out by an axe-murderer. For one, Brad would never let him live it down ever which is reason enough not to let it happen. Ray knows better than to put himself in axe-murderer-esque situations anyway, and he likes to think he could hear some huge ass guy lumbering around his home from a mile off.

  


Ray doesn’t say any of that though, opting instead to take a long drag of his beer until he’s finished the bottle off. “For a couple hours, for sure,” Ray says, shrugging his shoulder. “At least until I can get ahold of His Royal Highness and figure out how long this bitch fit is going to last.”

  


He doesn’t ask if it’s cool or if Hoosier minds, because he knows Hoosier won’t. Leckie makes a sound, glaring at the both of them over the top of his laptop and just  _daring_  Ray to say he plans on sticking around for the night. The longest Ray’s ever been over before Leckie stormed off to get a hotel room was nine days, he kind of wants to know if that record still stands.

  


”I am getting the feeling you’ve just been couched,” Ray says, dropping his voice and flashing a grin over at Hoosier. He should probably feel guilty for getting Hoosier in trouble, but he doesn’t have it in him right now, and even if he did, Hoosier is always getting in trouble with Leckie.

  


”It’s cool, we can cuddle for warmth,” Hoosier deadpans, drinking the last of his own bottle. He grins when Ray makes and objecting sound, pushing himself up off the couch and grabbing Ray’s empty bottle. “I’ll make it up to you, baby,” he says mockingly sweet, moving into the dining room. He reaches for Leckie’s chin, to tip his head back and kiss him, but Leckie pulls away.

  


”I’ve got plans with Web,” Leckie says, slapping his laptop shut with enough force that he winces. He leaves it where it lays, side stepping out of Hoosier’s way and disappearing into their bedroom without another comment or – surprisingly – a backwards glare.

  


Hoosier tosses the bottles he has in the kitchen trash, because fuck recycling, and pulls two more out of the fridge. He hands one to Ray before collapsing back onto the couch again, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and sighing heavily. “I don’t know who in their right mind would want to deal with Liebgott over you,” he says thoughtfully. “At least you don’t yell as a default form of communication.”

  


”Well, he’s sleeping with you, he can’t exactly be in his right mind,” Ray points out. He fights with the cap on his bottle for a moment, glaring at Hoosier and  _daring_  him to say anything at all before he finally manages to get it open with a triumphant sound. “Seriously though, what the fuck did I do to get him to hate me so much?”

  


”Ah, come on,” Hoosier huffs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be such a girl about it. He doesn’t  _hate_  you. He just doesn’t like you very much.”

  


”Because that is completely reassuring,” Ray replies wryly, then takes a long drag of his beer. He wonders if he can get drunk before five o’clock, and how much trouble Hoosier will be with his little missus if they do. “He has to give seriously awesome head when he’s not PMSing, because I have no idea what you see in him.”

  


”You know, everyone says the same thing about you and Brad,” Hoosier comments idly, sipping at his own beer. “And yeah, he does.”

  


”Brad and I aren’t  _together_ ,” Ray says, side-eyeing Hoosier and frowning when he scoffs. “Fuck that, we’re not  _domestic_  like you and Leckie or fucking Webster and Liebgott, and damn if I have any idea how  _they_  haven’t managed to kill each other off. Snafu and Sledge are all romantic and domestic and shit, too. Don’t tell me Ack Ack and Hillbilly aren’t trading handjobs when they’re not passing out bullets, either. Is it possible to work for Godfather and to not smoke cock?”

  


Hoosier makes a thoughtful noise before grinning slowly. “I think I’ve seen this porn before,” he says, which makes Ray laugh, because if anyone has seen porn about a gay mob, it would be Hoosier. Most people Ray knows collect antique or dangerous weapons or trophies from their jobs, Hoosier collects porn like it’s the only thing more important than sex and oxygen. Then again, when he’s sleeping with Leckie, it might be the only way he gets off on a semi-regular basis.

  


Sighing heavily and a little bit pathetically, Ray slumps down in his seat and kicks his feet up on the coffee table as well. “Do you remember the days when we were both unattached and could do whatever the fuck we wanted and not have to worry about pissing off the fairy princesses?”

  


”Vaguely,” Hoosier says. “I distinctly remember a lack of blowjobs at three in the morning and having to actually work to get laid. Also, having to clean up after myself, which fucking sucked, and sheets that were permanently cold.”

  


There’s probably a point to Hoosier’s words somewhere, hidden in the way Hoosier is glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes, but Ray is pointedly not seeing it.

  
\- - -  


Ray finally manages to get ahold of Brad a little after seven, long after he and Hoosier have already set up camp on Hoosier’s couch with mountains of take out and cheap beer. It’s only the second time he’s called, and it’s not like he’s doing it because he’s worried about Brad or anything. He just wanted to see if Brad would answer this time.

  


” _Hey_ ,” Brad says, which is so fucking anticlimactic that Ray kind of wants to punch something. He doesn’t think Hoosier would appreciate it though, and he can only imagine the bitch fit Leckie would throw if he ever comes back from his bitch session with Web.

  


Ray really has no idea what he’s supposed to say to Brad right now, or what he even wants to say. He just leans against the fridge and takes a sip from his beer, letting the silence sit for a minute. “How long do you plan on being gone?”

  


Brad doesn’t answer at first, but Ray doesn’t really expect him to. He wonders what it means that Brad isn’t surprised that Ray knows he took off and is probably halfway across the country by now, and that Brad doesn’t even bother to deny it.

  


At least Leckie tells Hoosier when he needs some time away. Not that that makes Leckie boyfriend of the year or anything, or that Brad and Ray are anything even resembling boyfriends, but -

  


Ray worries about Brad sometimes (or all the time, really) and he kind of wishes Brad would do the same for him. Or at least get his head out of his ass long enough to realize that Ray  _does_  worry. Maybe Ray is more emotionally invested in this thing between them than Brad is, but that doesn’t mean much. Brad doesn’t let himself get emotionally invested in anything.

  


Ray’s so busy feeling sorry for himself, he almost misses when Brad answers his question.

  


” _I’ll be back in a few days. Needed to see the ocean_ ,” he says quietly, which is basically code for  _I needed to get the fuck away before I shoot everything_. It gives Ray a timeline though, and a good a guess as any as to where Brad is headed right now. If he only plans to be gone for a few days, he’s probably off to Miami.

  


Ray has never liked Miami.

  


”Well, a warning would have been fucking nice,” Ray says bitterly, sliding down the length of the fridge until he’s sitting on the floor. It hides him from Hoosier’s questioning gaze, tucked away and safe behind the island. Ray doesn’t even care that Hoosier is going to accuse him of moping like a little bitch later. Ray will deal with that.

  


” _I can say the same goddamn thing to you_ ,” Brad snaps coldly, and it’s confirmation enough that Brad is pissed off about the Nate thing. He has no reason to be, as far as Ray is concerned. He got his dick sucked by a champ and got to fuck Nate’s tight ass, like he’s only been dry humping his mattress about in his sleep for three months over. He should be rewarding Ray with blowjob after blowjob until Ray’s dick falls off.

  


Ray doesn’t want to fight with Brad though, not right now. It’s no fun when Brad runs the risk of not coming home for weeks on end, and Ray thinks Leckie would kill him if he tried to crash on the couch for that long. “It was a onetime thing,” Ray says instead, mouthing the word  _maybe_.

  


They haven’t had the chance to talk about what they would do if Nate wanted more, or if they ever ran into him again. Ray has every intention of getting back on that, and he kind of wishes Brad would just admit he wants it already, too, because it’s easier for all three of them that way. Ray bets Nate is pressing down on his bruises and jerking off to the thought of Brad holding him down right now – because it’s always Brad people want, who is eight feet tall and is terrifying in the control he has, even when he’s fucking people hard enough to nearly break them.

  


” _I have to go_ ,” Brad says, and he hangs up before Ray even has a chance to object.

  


Ray curses into his phone, even though Brad might as well be halfway across the world for all the good it does. It’s hard to resist the urge to throw it across the kitchen, but Ray’s not a goddamn girl and he doesn’t think his wireless carrier will let him get yet another phone this year when he breaks this one. Ray kind of sucks at taking care of his toys.

  


He doesn’t go back to Hoosier right away, opting to sit with his head between his knees and his fingers in his hair. He’s just trying to think, or actually, to stop from thinking. He tries to focus on nothing but white noise, but it’s not coming to him, even right now. Probably because he wants it so bad.

  


There’s no point in pretending he’s not moping though, because maybe Ray lets things get too him a little too much, especially when Brad is involved. He’s just really fucking glad Hoosier doesn’t comment on it when he eventually makes his way into the kitchen to throw away some empty bottles and fast food containers.

  


“Should I break the news to my fairy princess we’ve got a houseguest?” Hoosier asks, leaning back against the island and looking down at Ray with a quirked eyebrow and a lazy smile. He enjoys tormenting Leckie more than is probably healthy considering they’re doing the whole live-in boyfriends thing.

  


For a moment, Ray just sits there, but eventually he looks up at Hoosier and smiles thinly. It’s weak and he feels like shit, but he’s glad he’s got Hoosier right now. He’s tired of Brad being a bitch and his vanishing acts when he doesn’t want to deal. And maybe Ray can’t talk, because he’s been known to spend two or three days with Hoosier at a time, but at least Ray stays within the city when he and Brad are fighting.

  


It only takes Ray a second to realize that this whole thing is giving off an uncomfortably domestic vibe and that shit just isn’t going to fly. He pushes himself to his feet, shoving his phone in his pocket and he’s careful not to spill his beer as he stands. “We’re going to need something a lot stronger than this,” Ray says, waving the bottle in front of Hoosier.

  


There’s an easy grin on Hoosier’s face, and he nods his head in agreement. “First one to throw up is a teenage girl,” he says, but he shoves Ray out of the way of the fridge and reaches in the back of the freezer to pull out a bottle of tequila. “I know you’re probably used to vodka, but where’s the fun in getting wasted if you remember it in the morning?”

  


”I think I love you,” Ray says, putting his bottle on the counter and reaching for the tequila. “Gimmie gimmie gimmie.”

  


”Get in line,” Hoosier laughs, holding the tequila out of Ray’s reach. “It’s too early in the night to drink straight from the bottle,” he adds, clutching the bottle tight while he grabs two mismatched cups from the cabinet. “Give it like an hour before we cave,” Hoosier says, and Ray seriously fucking loves him right now, no maybes about it.

  
\- - -  


That first night, Ray is vaguely aware of the return of Leckie. It’s late, or maybe early depending on when you look at it, and Leckie at least tries to quiet when he toes off his shoes and moves through the apartment. He stares at where Ray and Hoosier are sprawled out on the couch, Hoosier’s feet in Ray’s lap.

  


Ray makes a vague sound when Leckie starts to tidy up, because only Leckie would come home at four in the morning and decide to clean up after his live-in boyfriend – or whatever Hoosier and Leckie were calling themselves – and his best friend. Ray has always known there was something off about Leckie though.

  


Leckie doesn’t say anything as he gathers up the empty bottles and take out, tossing them in the trash. He moves around in the kitchen, somewhere Ray can’t see and is too tired to actually give a fuck about. When he comes back, he leans over Hoosier to drag the blanket from the back of the couch and lets it fall on top of him.

  


And then Leckie leaves and the only thing Ray manages to think before he drifts off is he thinks that this is the first time in history he and Leckie have been in the same room for more than five seconds and Leckie didn’t glower at him like a little bitch. Not that Ray expects the trend to last, and he’s out cold before he can put any more thought into it.

  
\- - -  


Hoosier and Ray end up spending a good portion of their time at the house, rifling through Brad’s things to annoy him when he gets back. Brad would flip a shit if he came home and the house had been ransacked and all his stuff taken. That’s not even touching on the implications that they would both probably be compromised on the mob front, which means Godfather would have them both shot like dogs and that would seriously fucking suck.

  


Besides, the more time they spend at the house together and away from Leckie, the less Ray has to listen to Hoosier cornering Leckie just out of Ray’s sight or behind closed doors so he can go down on him. Hoosier calls them  _I’m sorry blowjobs_  to make up for Ray sticking around, but Ray is pretty sure Hoosier is just being a dick of a best friend because he knows Ray can’t really object.

  


Well. Ray objects to the sounds Leckie makes, because he gets so breathless and kind of high pitched, but Ray’s probably just spent too much time with Brad. Anything other than grunts and low moans makes him think of cheap whores. Which, it turns out, is okay to say to Hoosier as long as Leckie isn’t around. Hoosier agrees with Ray, but he kind of likes it. Leckie is just a bitch.

  


Ray starts to get the feeling his being at Hoosier’s is a little too domestic though when he comes home from the shops with groceries for Hoosier’s fridge and Leckie’s on the phone in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. He picks at the brown paper bag in Ray’s arms, peering inside of it, before making a thoughtful sound.

  


”There’s something messed up that you remember to buy peanut butter when you don’t live here, and Hoosier never does,” Leckie says, frowning. He cradles his the phone between his shoulder and ear, humming at the response, and starts to empty out the bag. “No, not you. Ray. Sent him out with Hoosier for groceries.” Leckie pauses, as if realizing something, and blinks up at Ray. “Speaking of which, did you forget Hoosier at the store?”

  


Ray rolls his eyes and shoots an  _are you fucking kidding me?_  look to Leckie, which Leckie returns with a dark glare. “He’s putting wiper fluid in his stupid car. He’ll be up in a minute.” He grabs a beer out of the fridge, because he can if he damn well wants, and goes to flop down on the couch.

  


Really, Ray has every intention of ignoring the half-naked Leckie in the kitchen, but it’s hard to do when he says things like “ _Brad is the biggest cockblock to ever cockblock and he’s a thousand miles away right now_ ”.

  


Ray snorts derisively, taking a long drag of his beer. He doesn’t know who Leckie is talking to, but he bets it’s Webster. Leckie always bitches to Webster. Ray is in complete agreement about Brad being the biggest cockblock ever though. Dude is cockblocking himself, and not just by refusing to have anything to do with Nate. Ray puts out, when he wants to. Which is all the time.

  


Hoosier wanders in, eventually, grabbing a beer from the fridge as well. They spent an hour running around town doing all the errands Leckie was too lazy to do, they deserve the beer. Hoosier steals a kiss to Leckie’s jaw, grinning when he’s pushed away, before he makes his way back over to Ray and collapses next to him on the couch.

  


”How long do you think Liebgott has until Web is too into this gossip thing to put out?” Ray asks, kicking Hoosier’s ankle as they fight over space on the coffee table. He wonders how much of the story is out there, if anyone knows the reason Brad took off isn’t just because Ray’s apparently a dick and not because he’s actually an awesome person who cares about getting Brad’s dick wet and his wellbeing. Not necessarily in that order.

  


”I talked to Sledge earlier,” Hoosier says, taking a drag from his beer slowly, waiting until Ray’s turned his attention away from the pacing Leckie to Hoosier. “He says Liebgott’s been at Mathilda’s and complaining to whoever the fuck will listen. It’s like this epic circle of cockblocking.”

  


”Maybe if Snafu bitches about it enough, Brad will come back,” Ray says thoughtfully, glancing down at the bottle in his hands. “Or, if we had a job. It’s unnatural how quiet things have been. No one’s getting much work, according to the stupid gossip mill.”

  


”Hey, the gossip is awesome and you know it,” Hoosier says, prodding Ray in the side. “If you’re going to insult my number one source of information, I’m going to have to kick you out on your ass. Leckie’d like that.”

  


”Leckie won’t be happy short of my death,” Ray replies, taking a sip of his beer. He makes a vague hand gesture when Hoosier tries to deny it, and Hoosier stops trying. Ray’s pretty sure Leckie would try to kill Ray himself, if he thought he could get away with it. “How long do you think you have before Leckie gets pissed off enough to go stay in hotel?”

  


”A few days, for sure,” Hoosier says, shrugging his shoulders weakly. He takes another sip of his beer before flashing Ray a smug little smile. “Of course, him getting a hotel room means we don’t need to worry about the neighbors when I have to go and convince him to come back.”

  


”William,” Ray says, mock affronted. “I can’t believe you would stoop so low to take advantage of Leckie’s situation like that.” He can’t keep his face straight when Hoosier starts to laugh, and he’s grinning before he knows, laughing along.

  


”Would you two shut up for five minutes?” Leckie snaps from the kitchen, throwing a dishtowel in their direction. “You’re like goddamn children.” It falls short by a longshot, but it’s enough to make Hoosier and Ray laugh harder and Ray isn’t entirely sure why.

  


He’s pretty sure Leckie will storm off by the end of the week, and Ray’s probably a shitty best friend to Hoosier for wishing he’d do it already. Hey, though, if Leckie is going to loathe Ray’s entire existence and his cockblocking because of Brad’s own cockblocking, then Ray can loathe Leckie right back. Besides, Brad is bound to come home eventually, and everything will be okay again.

  
\- - -  


Brad does come home, eventually, though Ray isn’t entirely sure when. Ray just knows that Brad’s bike wasn’t in the garage when he left on the sixth night, but it’s there when Ray rolls in a little after noon on the seventh. A week. Brad’s been bitch fitting for a week, and he couldn’t even be bothered to tell Ray he was home.

  


Ray doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Not even a little. If Brad wants to be a little bitch about everything, than that’s his prerogative. Ray’s a little too hungover to deal with anything beyond a shower and a nap, so if Brad doesn’t want to announce that he’s back home, then Ray doesn’t have to either.

  


Not that Ray does a lot to hide the fact that he’s home. He strips as he makes his way through the house and to the bedroom he claimed for his own, leaving his clothes where they fall. By the time he makes it to the bathroom, he’s naked. He sits on the edge of the tub while the shower heats up, losing himself in the way the water sounds in the small room.

  


It’s nice and quiet and it’s weird that just knowing Brad’s around doesn’t make this stupid house feel so lonely. He’s still not so sure why Brad needs such a big house, except he does have more things with wheels than anyone else Ray has ever met, but aren’t you supposed to do things in moderation? Brad’s got himself a little hypocrisy going on.

  


Brad, who doesn’t make his presence known until Ray’s running a washcloth over his skin and wondering at what point Hoosier wrote  _penis_  on his elbow in Sharpie. Ray doesn’t have to look up to know Brad’s there, can hear him even over the sound of the shower, but Ray pointedly doesn’t turn to look at him.

  


For a moment, Brad is quiet, but he lets out a frustrated sigh and moves closer to Ray. “Would you stop acting like a child for five minutes – “

  


Ray slams his hand down on the lever with more force than he means to, shutting the shower off. “Do you want to talk about who is acting like a child? Because I’m not the one who ran away to Miami for a week to have a temper tantrum just because someone did something I didn’t like.”

  


”You had no right to bring him here,” Brad replies, scowling. He moves aside when Ray steps out of the shower, probably because he doesn’t want Ray to try to use him as a towel, and he leans against the sink when Ray starts to dry himself off. “Besides, you can’t handle staying home alone by yourself. You’ve got to spend a week bothering our fucking friends until it gets so bad that Snafu is calling me to bitch about how upset Sledge is.”

  


”What the fuck does Sledge have to be upset about any of this?” Ray asks, running the towel through his hair. “Kid’s not even fucking involved a little bit. Also, screw you, Hoosier is my friend. You’ve got Snafu to be a little bitch with.”

  


”Sledge is upset because Liebgott’s been harassing every fucking person in the city about how Webster won’t put out because he’s too distracted trying to figure out why the fuck you’ve been staying with Hoosier and Leckie,” Brad says, and for a second he looks confused by what he just said. “Also, Leckie spending all his time with Web means no sex for Liebgott, which means even more angry yelling…”

  


”Dude, when did our lives become such a damn soap opera?” Ray asks, and Brad just makes a grunting sound in agreement. “I’d like to point out all of this could have been avoided if you didn’t have to run off like a little bitch.”

  


”You know what, forget I even fucking bothered,” Brad says, and he pushes himself away from the counter and storms out of the bathroom. Ray’s not entirely sure what that means, but if Brad was trying to apologize, he really needs to work on his sincerity.

  


Ray could follow Brad, and they could hash out all the details and scream at each other until they feel better, but Ray is too tired for Brad’s shit right now. All he wants to do is sleep for a few hours and maybe get a blowjob at some point. Both of which are things that can be done without Brad, even if it does mean Ray’ll have to go bar crawling again.

  


Grumbling under his breath, Ray doesn’t even bother getting dressed before he crawls under his covers and spreads out over his bed. He thanks God for air conditioning, because his blanket is heavy and warm, and it doesn’t take long for Ray to drift off altogether.

  
\- - -  


Ray’s eating fruit loops in his boxers when he gets he gets a call from Nate. He stares blankly at the phone because he doesn’t recognize the number and because he’s only been up for fifteen minutes, it’s too early for this shit. He puts his bowl down on the counter and answers it though, slipping it between his ear and shoulder so he can keep eating. “Hello?”

  


A moment of silence, then, “ _Ray_.” Not a question, and not hesitant, like Ray always imagined Nate would be when he called back for more. It’s been three and a half weeks, he’s already lasted longer than Ray thought he would.

  


”Sup, homes?” Ray asks around a mouthful of cereal. He swallows, wiping his face with the back of his hand, and tries again. “I was wondering when you were going to take me up on my offer. Couldn’t turn down something this good, huh?”

  


Nate doesn’t answer right away, either because he’s trying to think of his words or he’s so stunned by Ray’s awesomeness he’s speechless. Ray’s going to pretend it’s the latter. “ _I thought maybe just one time would be enough_ ,” Nate admits quietly, sighing heavily. “ _I never intended to take you up on your offer_.”

  


”Bruises are starting to fade, then,” Ray decides, dropping his spoon into his bowl and giving up on eating. He pulls himself up onto a clean spot of counter, groaning and stretching, before leaning comfortably back against the wall. “You’re a kinky motherfucker and you know it.”

  


” _I am not_ ,” Nate snaps and Ray bites back a laugh, because Nate might not have been doing the most deplorable things in the universe when he was between Brad and Ray, but he’s certainly not vanilla. “ _I don’t know why I called, this was a mistake -_ ”

  


”Nate,” Ray says, “Hey, don’t you dare hang up on me. I’ll stop teasing you.” He waits for a second, worrying at his lower lip, but the only thing Nate does is let out an exasperated sigh. There’s no dial tone, which Ray thinks is a very good thing. “So. I think the important question here, is what do you want out of this?”

  


There’s a thoughtful noise over the other end of the line, and Ray wonders if Nate even knows what he wants beyond a good, hard fuck every now and then. Which Ray is more than willing to give him, but there’s so much more that Ray wants to do to Nate than just tying his arms behind his back. “ _I don’t know_ ,” Nate says and Ray wonders how hard it was for him to admit.

  


”Because if this is just about getting a little bruised and getting fucked, that’s cool,” Ray says, swinging his legs back and forth, banging his heels against the cabinet. Brad would kill him, if he could see him, but Brad would kill him anyways for the conversation he’s having and who he was having it with. “But, if it’s giving up control you’re interested in, I can do you one better.”

  


” _Yes_ ,” Nate says. He doesn’t need time to think about it, which Ray thinks is a good sign. “ _I want -_ ” it’s not so much that Nate hesitates, as maybe he needs a second to make up his mind or reassure himself he can do it. “ _I want to be in control. That’s the point of a safe word, right? You can’t do anything I don’t want and you have to stop as soon as I tell you._ ”

  


”Someone’s been doing their research,” Ray hums, nodding to himself. “Looking up porn on the internet, Nathaniel? Naughty, naughty.” He laughs when Nate chokes, but he doesn’t apologize. Nate will either tell him to stop or hang up. “That’s the gist of it all, yeah. Gaining control by giving it up. You’re a lot kinkier than you want to admit.”

  


” _So can we do this thing or not_?” Nate asks, and Ray wonders if he’s blushing. Nate’s such a good boy, it probably kills him to have to call Ray and ask for this. At least he isn’t trying to go out to a bar on his own again.

  


Letting his heels thump against the cabinet again, Ray stops swinging them and sighs. “Okay,” he says, nodding. He starts to drum his fingers on the counter at his side, an easy, idle action, before he continues. “Today is what, Tuesday? Then, I want you to wait until Friday.”

  


” _What_?” Nate asks, and he sounds more than a little distressed. “ _Can’t we get this over – can’t we do this already? I have absolutely nothing to do all night. That’s kind of the reason I called in the first place._ ”

  


”Nate,” says slowly, cutting him off before he can go on. He doesn’t like waiting either, knowing it’s Nate he’s giving a rain check to, but there’s a method to his madness. Plus, it will give him more time to convince Brad he wants this. “Wait, when you called to get your pretty ass owned, the implication was you do want Brad  _and_  myself, right?”

  


” _Yes, Ray_ ,” Nate says wryly.

  


”Okay, just making sure,” Ray says, and he isn’t sure why, but he’s actually kind of relieved a little. He isn’t going to set up a play date if he isn’t invited. Nate’s ass is as much his as it is Brad’s. “Okay,” Ray says again, then, “Do you trust me?”

  


For a second, Nate is quiet. Ray doesn’t think he’s unsure so much as trying to figure out what Ray is getting at, if there’s some scheme here he doesn’t know about. After a moment of silence though, Nate says, “ _Yes_.”

  


”Right,” Ray says slowly, nodding to himself. “Then I want you to just trust me on this. Friday night, we’ll own your ass as little or as much as you want. But you’ve got to learn to give up control here, too. I want you to spend the rest of the week thinking about what it feels like to be tied up and helpless and how we’re going to pound your tight little ass while you scream for more.”

  


” _You’re so crude_ ,” Nate replies, and his voice gets a little breathless. In anticipation, Ray hopes, and not embarrassment. Or, if it’s embarrassment, they’ll fuck the shyness out of him, given enough time. “ _Fine. Friday is fine. I’ll be there._ ”

  


”I’ll text you the location later,” Ray decides. He stops drumming on the counter and can’t fight the lazy grin that makes its way to his face. “Though, if you’re kind of horny and need to get it out of your system, I wouldn’t stop you from jacking off right now while we’re on the phone.”

  


” _I’m hanging up now_ ,” Nate says, his tone clipped. “ _I’ll talk to you later_.”

  


Ray’s not really surprised when Nate hangs up on him, but he is kind of disappointed. That would have been a great start to their relationship, he thinks and idly he wonders how Nate gets himself off. It was worth a shot though and Ray snaps his phone shut, reaching across the counter to grab his bowl and finish his cereal. Talking to Brad can wait until he’s more awake and less hungry.

 

\- - -

Ray has a plan. A good plan, even, one that isn’t just demanding Brad go out with him Friday and dragging him to the hotel room where they’re going to fuck Nate through the floor. Which, is also a good plan. Well, the fucking Nate through the floor part. They can probably still do that.

  


The point though, is that initially, Ray hadn’t planned on just stumbling across Brad as he’s feeding his stupid koi in the sun room – because Ray refuses to call it a  _solarium_  like a pussy, or Brad – and telling him that they’re so getting laid again in a few days. In hindsight, it probably has something to do with the low hum of pot through his system, but he isn’t a stickler for details. It was all Hoosier’s fault, anyways.

  


Brad doesn’t say anything at first, but he does stop tossing the pellets into the pond. His hand is still filled, and the koi flounder around trying to find  _something_  to eat, even though they’re already overfed, and Ray gets that constant searching for something that isn’t there feeling. It sucks. Eventually, though, Brad grabs a few pellets from the pile in his hand and chucks them to the other side of the pond for the koi to fight over. “No.”

  


”But he started it!” Ray argues, nudging Brad’s back with his knee. “He called me up and everything, asked us to fuck him seven ways to Sunday because he needs to give up all of his control. He’s jonesing for your cock, homes. He was practically salivating at the thought of going down on you again.”

  


”You are disgusting,” Brad says, wrinkling his nose and tossing more food into the pond. “The answer is still  _no_. We agreed this would be a one time thing. If you want to go off and let him suck your cock, be my guest.”

  


”He’d do more than just suck my cock,” Ray says slyly. He runs his fingers through Brad’s hair, enjoying the softness of it, and Brad allows it for a few seconds before elbowing Ray’s leg. “I don’t understand why you’re so hung up about this.” He drops to a crouch behind Brad, slumping forward against him and wrapping his arms around Brad’s neck. “It’ll be fun, Brad. Come on.”

  


”Don’t you ever get tired of being told  _no_?” Brad asks, annoyed and exasperated. He tries to shrug Ray off, but Ray just clings tighter, and Brad sighs heavily. He flings the rest of the food in the pond before shifting his weight to sit, leaning back on his hands and against Ray. Tipping his head to the side, Brad kisses Ray’s jaw lightly. “Drop it, Ray.”

  


”I don’t want to,” Ray huffs. He sits on his heels and rests his chin on Brad’s shoulder, watching the koi swim in the pond and fight over the last of the food. “You have no excuse this time. There’s no way you can say Nate was coerced into doing this or that he doesn’t want it a little. Fuck, Brad, he wants  _you_.”

  


”How long do you plan on doing this, Ray? Until Nate’s father finds out and he has us both killed? Or Wynn? Someone is bound to notice all the marks prettying up his skin and put their foot down,” Brad says. He makes a sound, exasperated or angry, though Ray’s not sure about what exactly. He doesn’t pull away though, and Ray nuzzles against his shoulder. It feels nice. “It’s too dangerous to keep this up.”

  


”But he wants it,” Ray replies, because shouldn’t that be reason enough? “So, worse comes to worst, we have to brain the kid in a few months to save our own hides. It’ll suck, but we’ll be fine.” Except, even as Ray says the words, he can feel something twist in his gut a little. “I mean…” His voice trails off and he sighs heavily, resting his cheek against Brad’s shoulder.

  


”I should have known this was going to happen when you compared the damn kid to a dog,” Brad says, prying Ray’s arms from around his neck and pushing himself to his feet. He shoots Ray a look, not quite unimpressed, but not entirely thrilled, either. “You’ve gotten attached to him.”

  


”Oh, hey,” Ray says, blinking up at Brad. He reaches out for Brad’s belt loops, curling his fingers in them to keep Brad from getting away. “I am not attached to him. I just think we should take advantage of the fact we have a twinkie college kid at our beck and call. Sort of. I left it up to him to call the shots.”

  


Brad runs his fingers through Ray’s hair slowly, fisting his hand in it and tugging Ray’s head back, until Ray has no choice but to look up at him. “You’re just asking for something bad to happen to you.”

  


”Well, if you won’t fucking touch me, I need to find someone who will,” Ray snaps, twisting away from Brad’s touch and standing up. “You could take out all your pent up frustrations on a kid who’s practically gagging for it and you’re passing it up because you want to be morally superior to everyone else. When you realize he  _wants_  it? That  _I_  want it?”

  


”You need to learn you can’t just tell someone to do something and expect them to bend to your will all the damn time,” Brad replies and it’s hard for Ray to bite back a comment about bending over, because the lack of bending is kind of a problem here, but he doesn’t think Brad would appreciate it. “Ray, stop acting like a spoiled brat.”

  


”Then maybe you should start acting like you’re fucking human,” Ray says, and he knows it’s a mistake the moment the words are out of his mouth. Ray won’t back down on what he’s said though, even if Brad’s lip are a thin line and he looks like he wants to push Ray into the koi pond. Brad says koi will eat bodies, if you let them sit long enough, and Ray’s not entirely sure if he believes him or not but now is not a good time to test out that particular theory. “You don’t have to be the Iceman all the damn time. It’s okay to be  _Brad_  once in a while.”

  


”We’re through here,” Brad says, pushing past Ray and moving towards the door. He looks pissed, or more than pissed, and Ray is sick of Brad tucking tail and running away when he has a problem instead of sitting and dealing with it. This  _holier than thou_  and _wounded warrior_  bullshit is starting to get tiring.

  


”Stop running away all the time!” Ray yells after Brad, and he’s kind of surprised when Brad freezes in the doorway. “You fucking well know I’m not going to give up on this because we both know you’re practically choking for it, too. The problem is, is that you fucking  _like_  Nate and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  


Brad is quiet, his fingers curled around the doorjamb so tight his knuckles have gone white. He holds on for a second before he forces himself to let go. “This is just sex, Ray. There’s no connection deeper than that of mutual need. It will never be anything more than that so stop.”

  


”It doesn’t have to be,” Ray replies, and he has to take a deep breath before he continues or he might just yell so much he explodes. Brad can be so fucking retarded. “Nate fucking  _trusts_  us to tie him up and cover him in bruises and fuck his tight ass. If that doesn’t prove more than  _just sex_ , I don’t know what does.”

  


”Enough, Ray,” Brad says, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore. Just tired, or exhausted, really, and Ray wonders if this means he won’t hop on his bike and take a trip back down to Miami way. “Just stop.”

  


”Brad,” Ray says. He moves in closer, but not close enough to touch, because he wants to be able to move out of the way if Brad decides to lash out at him. “When’s the last time you had sex with someone who wasn’t me or Nate? I bet you didn’t even fuck a hooker in Miami. You’re attached and you fucking know it.”

  


Brad just leaves without saying a damn thing, and Ray knows he’s right. Not that it makes him feel any better, because he can’t remember the last time he slept with anyone that wasn’t Brad or Nate either. It’s almost officially made them  _domestic_  or some shit.

  


Still, Brad hasn’t agreed to meet Nate with Ray, and Ray has no idea if this means he’s won this argument or not. He knows better than to bring it up again right now, but it doesn’t stop him from wondering.

  
\- - -  


For the first time in what has to be years since Ray moved in with Brad, Brad’s bedroom door is locked. Ray can pick it, he has in the past, but Ray is too busy being stupidly hurt to even bother. Brad’s locked him out. This isn’t even metaphorical or cosmic bullshit like the stuff Rudy spits out to anyone who will listen. Brad has literally locked him out.

  


Which, fine. Ray is a grown ass man. He can sleep in his own damn bed. He doesn’t need to be in the same room as Brad, using the freakishly huge dickface as a pillow and a means to keep warm. He took over an entire room for himself when he decided to crash at Brad’s, because this house is too big and too empty for Brad to live in alone. He might as well use it. It’s Brad’s loss. He’s the one who doesn’t get any blowjobs at three in the morning.

  


Only, Ray’s not really tired anymore. All he wants to do is steal some of the good vodka from Brad’s liquor cabinet and spend the night getting drunk and  _not_  moping. Ray’s not a sixteen year old girl. His heart isn’t broken, he doesn’t need to mope about shit. His life is fucking awesome right now, thanks.

  


And if Ray spends the night drinking stolen vodka to the point he needs to spend what feels like an eternity over the toilet throwing up, that’s no one’s business but his own. He’s got his own bathroom, with his own bathtub, and as soon as he’s done vomiting out his insides, he’ll curl up in the cool porcelain and sleep away tomorrow. He can do whatever the fuck he wants.

  
\- - -  


Friday comes, and Brad still isn’t talking to Ray, and Ray still doesn’t care. He definitely doesn’t miss the way Brad cards his fingers through Ray’s hair idly when they end up pressed against each other on the couch or the soft kisses Brad likes to press against his jaw. Brad can be a fucking girl all he wants somewhere else, it’s no big deal.

  


He’s been on his laptop for half an hour, sipping coffee while he flips through a list of hotels he and Brad have vetted in the past, or that Godfather owns, when Brad wanders in in search of coffee. He’s got shorts slung low on his hips, his skin flushed from a shower or working out or something, and Ray has to remind himself he doesn’t want that even a little bit.

  


Even if Ray kind of does, and he’d let Brad fuck his throat right now and for the next fifty years if it means Brad would stop shutting him out. Ray is fucking boss at giving head and Brad knows it, has been on the receiving end like a million times, he has to miss that at least a little bit.

  


”Pot’s fresh,” Ray says idly, and it’s hard to keep his eyes fixed on the screen. He needs some place to take Nate that won’t freak him out, because Ray really doesn’t want to try his luck with any of the questionable quality ones he himself usually ends up crashing at. This has always been more Brad’s area of expertise but Ray refuses to ask for help.

  


Brad just makes a vague sound when he pours himself a cup of coffee, drinking most of it in a single gulp despite the fact it’s still hot. He tops off his cup before moving towards the kitchen table, stretching out and sitting across from Ray. “You got a job?” He asks, sipping at his coffee.

  


”Nope,” Ray replies. “Works a chore and fucking Nate is anything but,” he adds, glancing up over his laptop and smirking at Brad. He ignores the eye roll Brad gives him in favor of sipping his own coffee and looking at his laptop screen again. “You’re still invited, you know.”

  


”You seriously aren’t going to drop this, are you?” Brad asks, his expression so clearly not amused even though Ray not only is offering him the greatest opportunity ever, but he also makes fuck awesome coffee. He stares while Ray pointedly ignores him, before sighing. “Where are you taking him?”

  


”I have absolutely no idea,” Ray says. He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging roughly, before dropping his hands to his lap. He looks over at Brad, and he’s kind of tired as fuck right now, and he hates Brad for looking so awake. “I figure, one of Godfather’s places is off limits, just because it’s Nate.” There is absolutely no surge of smug pride when Brad nods his head in agreement. “It’s been months since anyone we trust has checked out some of these other places, though.”

  


Brad gestures for Ray to hand over his laptop, and Ray does it without thinking. He watches as Brad sets his cup down carefully, out of the way where it won’t accidentally spill onto the laptop, and he focuses on the list of tabs Ray has open. He skims through them quietly for a moment, occasionally nodding to himself and tapping away at the keys.

  


Ray sips at his coffee, leaning back in his seat and sprawling, and waits for Brad to give his laptop back. He’s trying to figure out if it’s worth trying to convince Brad he wants to come anymore, because Brad is a dick, but at least Brad is here. He’s helping. That’s... Ray doesn’t know what that is, but he thinks that it’s a good sign. Progress, maybe.

  


When Brad does pass Ray’s laptop back, there’s only one hotel tab left open. It’s not one Ray was feeling too strongly about, but it’s nice enough, and he trusts Brad to know about these kinds of things. “What if I asked you to come along as a personal favor,” Ray asks, scrolling through the page until he can find a number he can book a room with. He pauses, looking up when Brad doesn’t respond. “What, it’s a legitimate favor.”

  


”Only in your messed up world would asking one person to fuck another while you were there be considered a favor,” Brad says, and he almost sounds amused. He drains the last of his coffee and stands up, reaching across the table to grab Ray’s cup. He doesn’t ask if Ray wants more before refilling it, and Ray’s kind of amused by it. Normally Brad is the one to cut him off.

  


”Would you at least consider it?” Ray asks, pushing his chair back onto two legs and leaning back. “It’ll be awesome, and you know it. Think of it as some sort of bonding exercise.”

  


”Four legs on the ground or I’ll beat you with that chair,” Brad says, and Ray slips his chair down onto the floor instinctively. Brad probably wouldn’t beat him to death with the chair, because it would mean having to buy a new one, but Ray’s had to work with a few people in the past who definitely wouldn’t hesitated from doing so. “And you mean a  _bondage_  exercise.”

  


”Well, if you want to go ahead and jump the gun like that, I’m sure we can break out the rope and leather,” Ray grins, and Brad places Ray’s coffee cup down in front of him with more force than is strictly necessary. Ray grins, reaching for it and takes another sip. “I’m sure Nate won’t mind. Fuck, I’ll even let you tie me up if you want.”

  


”Ray,” Brad starts. He pinches the bridge of his nose, making a face, and he sits down back across from Ray. “Why is this so important to you?” He asks, staring into his coffee and twirling a finger around the lip of his cup slowly. “Why would you risk getting shot in the face pestering me no matter how many times I’ve told you to stop?”

  


”Uh, because one, I know you wouldn’t actually shoot me in the face,” Ray says, and Brad shoots him a  _try me_  look. Ray waves it off. “Two, because I’m a hedonistic bastard that loves sex more than anything else, especially if I get to dom some pretty boy’s ass. And three, because you need this as bad as I want it.”

  


”You never know when to shut up, do you?” Brad asks, tired. He sips at his coffee, watching Ray idly, and Ray can’t tell what he’s thinking. Besides the fact he’s obviously tired of this conversation, he’s carefully blank. It’s almost as Brad locking Ray out of his room. Ray feels so shut out from Brad and he hates it.

  


”I’ll shut up about this when you admit you want it,” Ray replies, shrugging his shoulders. “Or, you can come with me and not admit it, but that’s kind of like an admission anyways. Stop resisting this so much, you jackass. You know you want it and you’re only hurting yourself.”

  


”Because insulting someone is really the way to get them to do something you want them to,” Brad says wryly, smirking at Ray over the top of his cup. “You need to work on your convincing skills.”

  


”It’s easier to convince you to do something when I have your cock in my mouth,” Ray says easily, smiling suggestively over at Brad. He grins when Brad looks thoughtful, and it’s been almost a month since Nate sucked him off, a little bit longer since Ray has. How Brad hasn’t exploded from sexual repression, Ray will never know. He’s ready to burst apart himself. “You know, it’ll feel better when Nate – “

  


”Ray, shut the fuck up and suck me off,” Brad says, pushing his chair away from the table and spreading his legs invitingly. He quirks an eyebrow when Ray doesn’t respond immediately, daring Ray to turn him down.

  


Ray would object, but he’s pretty sure this is a win in his favor. Calling to get a hotel room and texting Nate the address can wait until after. It’s been too long since Ray has done this, and he maybe wants to do it as much as Brad wants him to. Besides, he’s pretty sure it means they’re making progress.

  
\- - -  


Ray’s rooting through the drawers in Brad’s room looking for leather wrist cuffs, because he knows that between the two of them, one of them owns a pair, when Brad walks in. Ray stops searching long enough to look up and smirk, but he’s put off gathering supplies and he really wants those wrist cuffs. “You changed your mind about this thing?” He asks without looking up.

  


”Why are you going through my stuff?” Brad asks, so clearly less than thrilled. He moves to investigate some of the drawers Ray has already been through and makes a pissed off sound when he sees the disarray. “Did you have to tear apart every fucking drawer? What are you even looking for?”

  


”Wrist cuffs,” Ray says, pausing in rooting through Brad’s dresser. “You know, the ones we used on that one girl.” He mimes the gesture to mean large breasts, and Brad just quirks an eyebrow at him. “With the shitty tramp stamp that made you bitch like the tattoo elitist that you are. Christ. It was before you went home for Hanukah, I think.”

  


”Her,” Brad says, nodding in agreement. Ray bets Brad can’t remember her name either, though, and he feels a little bit better. “If you’re going to get something permanently inked onto your skin, think it fucking through. Or at least find a goddamn reputable artist. It’s not that fucking hard.”

  


Ray rolls his eyes, because he’s heard this argument a million times. He used to feel self-conscious about his tattoos when Brad spewed rants like this, but he’s heard them so many times now that he doesn’t care. “Are you going to help me find the wrist cuffs or not?”

  


”They’re in the shoebox in the top of my closet,” Brad replies. He doesn’t look up or offer to get them for Ray, too busy straightening out his drawers after Ray tore them apart. Really, he should be used to Ray’s destructive habits by now. He should just accept them and move on. It’s as simple as that.

  


There’s a quip on Ray’s tongue about how it’s super fucking cliché to keep sex toys in a shoebox in a closet, but he’s still holding out on Brad coming with him. He hates Brad’s closet, because Ray’s had bedrooms smaller than it, and he has to push himself up on his tiptoes to grab the shoebox and pull it down before he can open it. Sure enough, the wrist cuffs are in there, but they’re not the only things. “Why are you hoarding my sex toys?”

  


”Because you are constantly leaving them in here or otherwise lying around,” Brad replies. He looks up from where he’s moved to his dresser, folding some shirts, and sends Ray a dark look. “I don’t even want to know the condition of the ones left in your care.”

  


”Fuck you, I take good care of them,” Ray huffs out. He moves to the bed, dumping the box out and rifling through its contents. He can feel Brad’s eyes on him when he adds the wrist cuffs and two dildos to his bag. “Do you think Nate’s ever used one of these before?” Ray asks, and he means sex toys in general, but he’s got a vibrator in his hands.

  


”Exactly how much do you think he’s going to let you get away with?” Brad asks, amused. He turns around to lean back against his dresser, quirking an eyebrow when Ray double checks the contents of his bag. “I know he’s only twenty three, but I doubt he has the stamina you seem to think.”

  


”One, easily solved with a cock ring,” Ray replies. He smirks when Brad rolls his eyes. “Not that I’m going to bring that up to him just yet. I’m just trying to give Nate some choice here. If he’s not used to it, it’s going to be weird, right? I don’t want to scare him off just because he’s nervous about having a dildo shoved in his ass. Kid was a total top before. I’m breaking him into a world of debauchery like he’s never known.”

  


Brad is looking at Ray like maybe he never expected him to be so considerate or something, which is ridiculous, because Ray can be a fucking gentleman or whatever when he wants to be. “The level of thought you’ve put into this astounds me.”

  


”Shut the fuck up,” Ray says, and it’s hard to resist the urge to throw something at him. He doesn’t have anything he could throw, really, besides a dildo or two, and he isn’t sure Brad would let him live if he did that. “Are you going to come with me tonight or not?”

  


For a second, Brad’s expression is unreadable. Ray knows him well enough to know that he’s debating the pros and cons, wonders if it kills him to even back down a little bit even though he wants it so much. Brad doesn’t say anything at first, just moves closer and picks up the bag Ray had packed. He rifles through it slowly, quietly, before zipping it up and sitting it back down on the bed.

  


”Brad, come on,” Ray says softly. He’s not above begging this close to the event, and he ignores the fact he should have already left by now, because he wants Brad to be there for this. Ray wants Brad to come with him more than he knows how to admit, or deal with, and he doesn’t know why except that Ray’s life has been all about Brad for years. He doesn’t want that to change. “Please.”

  


Brad doesn’t say anything at first, just moves closer until he can curl his fingers around the back of Ray’s neck and drag him in close. His lips are warm and soft where they brush against the corner of Ray’s mouth. Ray doesn’t know what this is about, but he thinks it’s a good sign. Brad doesn’t let Ray return the kiss, pulling away when he tries. “Okay,” he says softly.

  


Ray’s smiling so wide it almost hurts, and he bites back the slew of cheers. He’s won, he’s totally fucking won and he’s probably the only person in the universe besides Brad’s mom who can bend Brad to his will, but now isn’t the time for that. He has to at least wait until Nate is naked to do his victory dance, because Ray isn’t going to risk chasing Brad away now.

  


”Stop smiling, you retard,” Brad says, scowling. He grabs Ray’s bag up again and shoves it as his chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be there in half an hour? Hurry the fuck up before Nate decides he doesn’t want to wait for your pimply ass anymore. I’m driving.”

  


”Oh fuck you,” Ray says, shouldering Brad as he bumps past him, but it lacks any real heat. He’s in too good a mood to care about anything right the fuck now. He won and he’s going to get laid and he’s officially the most awesome roommate ever. Brad is going to have to give him all the blowjobs ever for this, later.

  
\- - -  


Nate’s only nervous at first, when he’s told to strip and get on the bed. He watches quietly when Brad binds his wrists to the headboard with the leather wrist cuffs, worrying at his lower lip, and Ray wonders what it says that Nate’s more anxious about the wrist cuffs than he was having Brad or Ray’s belts around his wrists. At least these are padded a little.

  


He sucks Brad off like that, hands bound above his head and lying on his back, Brad straddling his chest and gripping the headboard, rocking into Nate’s mouth with shallow thrusts. It means he’s distracted enough that Ray can slick him up to three fingers, mouthing kisses and nips to the inside of Nate’s pale thighs.

  


Ray laps at the head of Nate’s cock, sucking lightly, but it’s not even close enough to what Nate needs to get off. It’s just a distraction, to keep him hard and wanting while Brad fucks his throat. He smirks when Brad comes with a low groan, and Ray presses his fingers against Nate’s prostate roughly, rubbing against it in slow drags. He doesn’t stop until Brad pulls out, and Ray removes his fingers and wipes them on Nate’s thighs slowly.

  


Nate’s cheeks flush bright red, to the tips of his ears and down his chest at the sight of the dildo, and Ray’s actually kind of amazed he’s still conscious when his blood is rushing through his body like that. Nate squirms, but he spreads his thighs far enough apart for Ray to settle between them proper and press the silicone toy into him, his back arching up and moaning loudly when it slides deep.

  


He fucks Nate like that, slowly, until Nate is begging for  _More, Ray, please, harder_  and he’s tugging against the wrist cuffs binding him to the headboard. And Ray gives him what he wants, fucking him with it hard and fast until Nate is biting his lip and curling his toes. He curls his fingers around Nate’s cock, tight, and then Nate is begging just to be allowed to come.

  


And for all the times Ray has seen Nate come, has seen him spread out and helpless beneath him, this tops the cake. Nate is writhing, biting his tongue and embarrassed from the sounds he’s making, his skin flushed and sweaty and he’s fucking gorgeous. Ray wants to keep him like this forever, Nate pliant and begging.

  


His cock is aching from the sight though, and Brad only has the patience to twist and tug at Nate’s nipples for so long before he gets handsy and takes this over for himself, so Ray loosens his grip. He watches the way Nate’s hips arch up into the circle of Ray’s fist and he bows his back, smirks when Nate cries out as he comes. Ray doesn’t stop fucking Nate with the dildo until Nate’s cock stops pulsing, Nate’s body taut as he tries to catch his breath.

  


Nate is loose and pliant after that, his body accepting Ray easily when he lines up and pushes his cock into him. It’s not gentle, not even for Ray, but he isn’t as rough as he can be. It’s no fun when Nate is too winded to do more than tug at his bindings and moan loudly, but it’s enough. He catches his breath soon enough, arching up and rocking against Ray for more, and it’s good.

  


They’ve got Nate to themselves for the entire night, to push and pull and fuck until it doesn’t matter how much time he gets to catch his breath, he’s nothing but a trembling mess beneath their fingertips. He’s so warm and pliant, nothing but lazy smiles and broken moans when they touch his nipples, the bruises and bites covering his shoulders and chest and stomach and thighs.

  


It’s not until Nate starts to shy away from touches to his cock, whimpering softly in a way that’s not good, do Brad and Ray call it a night and congratulate themselves. They’ve broken him so easily, covered him in their marks and come, reduced him to an oversensitive, quivering puddle, and he let them. If Ray hadn’t already gotten off twice, that alone would be enough for him to want to push Nate’s thighs apart and do it all over again.

  


Instead, Brad just leans over Nate and undoes the bindings on his wrists slowly, bringing Nate’s arms down carefully until he’s flat on the bed and sighs contently. It brings a smile to Brad’s face, something soft, and Ray leans in to kiss Nate’s hip gently. They leave him there, and it shouldn’t be as hard as it is, but Nate makes no sign of getting up any time soon, and he waves them off when they ask.

  


It’s just sex though, so there shouldn’t be these stupid feelings of lingering want for tenderness and cuddles. Ray can demand those things of Brad on occasion, but he has no room or right to want them from Nate. Still, it’s hard to leave when Nate is laid bare like that, but he does, they do.

  


And maybe, the feeling eases up when they get home and Brad kisses Ray softly, tugging him up to his bed and curling around him, but he still feels like he shouldn’t have walked away. All the same, it’s nice to have Brad’s lips pressed against the back of his neck and freakishly long limbs dragging him back against Brad’s chest and pinning him in place.

  


It’s way nicer than Ray knows how to admit, and he’s fucking missed this. Not that he has any intentions of telling Brad that anytime soon, because he’s not a fucking girl like Brad is. Still… This doesn’t make up for leaving Nate alone in a hotel room under one of Ray’s many, many aliases, but they’ll live. Ray will live. But first, Ray wants to sleep for at least a century.


	10. Ray

The one thing that doesn’t change after that first night that Nate called, reached out to them specifically, is that Nate always sets the schedule. The dates and location are up to Ray – and sometimes Brad’s discretion – but if they fuck, it’s up to Nate to initiate contact between them.

  


It works, for the most part. It’s the only way they know for sure that it’s Nate who wants this, who wants them to fuck them, and not just them pushing their desires onto him. This thing between them – because it’s definitely a  _thing_ , even if Ray doesn’t know what sort – has enough questionability in its roots.

  


Besides, there’s something thrilling about knowing that Nate is calling because he needs them, badly, and he’ll take what he can get. Sometimes he only gets a quick fuck from both of them, pinning him to the bed and biting rough marks into his skin so he knows he’s theirs before they leave him wanting. Others, they’ll tie him up and keep him on edge all night, make him beg for release until he’s gone hoarse from pleading. He comes so hard on nights like that.

  


Nate is embarrassed about the sounds he makes, and it would be endearing if it wasn’t so frustrating. It takes a lot of biting and bruising, fucking into him so hard the headboard cracks against the wall to get Nate to make the smallest of sounds. It might be the point behind Nate holding back, maybe, but Ray thinks it has to do with the way Nate is always so tense at the start.

  


Nate doesn’t want to want this as bad as he does, and maybe he wishes it would go away, but he still calls every other week to ask for Brad and Ray to tie him up and use him. He still comes all over himself when Brad and Ray fuck him senseless, still begs for more until it pains him to be touched. Ray has no idea what it says about Nate, other than obvious masochism, but he’s not going to let Nate go for as long as he can keep him.

  


What they have is unconventional, and probably more than a little bit fucked up, but they all need it. It’s weird to need something this badly, especially this thing with Nate, given the circumstances but Ray wants it too much to care. This thing, here, it works for them, and that’s all that matters.

  
\- - -  


It works until, one day, it doesn’t.

  
\- - -  


The adrenaline is pumping through Ray’s system white hot, every inch of his body tense with anticipation, and he can’t sit still through the twenty minute drive to get back to the house. His fingers are drumming against the steering wheel, his feet tapping against the floor well while he waits for traffic, and if he doesn’t move soon he’s going to explode.

  


It feels like he’s crashing from drugs he doesn’t remember taking, but he’s been clean for a month, and he’s never let himself get that addicted in the first place. He’s smart about it, despite what Brad thinks. It’s just, sometimes after he gets shot at, he feels fucking invincible. Granted, the shots were wide and missed him by a mile, but he knows how much difference a half-inch can make in these sorts of things.

  


Ray is jonesing for something, always wanting something more, and he knows without even trying no pills are going to sate this, the good vodka Brad keeps locked away in his office won’t even dent it. He knows what he wants, and he got shot at today, he could have died if things played out any differently, and he’s tired of waiting idly.

  


There’s no telling when Nate will call next, but if he keeps close to schedule, it won’t be for another week at least. Ray can’t wait that long, not after today, not when he needs to burn off all this energy this badly. Brad will throw a bitchfit when he finds out, but right now Ray doesn’t care. Ray doesn’t care about anything beyond rush of invincibility through his veins and the fact he wants Nate so badly he’s aching for it.

  


Ray’s made his decision, doesn’t want time to think his way out of it like he’s seen Brad do about things like this. He makes the call, still fifteen minutes out from home and he doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a hotel room lined up, or that this isn’t how they do this, because Ray needs this.

  


” _Ray_ ,” Nate says when he answers the phone, and he sounds confused and wary and a little bit worried. “ _Is everything alright? Are you okay? Is Brad okay?_ ”

  


The concern is touching in a good way, spreading something warm through Ray’s system that has nothing to do with his want, but Ray doesn’t have time to dwell on that right now. “I need you,” Ray says, cutting Nate off before he can keep up the questions. “I like seriously fucking need you right now because I’m fucking invincible and – “

  


” _Are you high?_ ” Nate asks, and Ray could laugh. Yes, he’s high, but not off what Nate thinks he is. They’ll argue over how that’s none of Nate’s fucking business later.

  


”Nate,” Ray says seriously, curling his fingers tight around the steering wheel. “You’re not listening to me. I need you to listen to me. I just got shot at by some dickwads who think they can sneak in on Godfather’s territory and I’m ready to explode out of my skin here. I  _need_  you before that happens, so - ”

  


” _You were shot at?_ ” Nate asks, and that’s definitely worry in his voice, obvious and a little shrill. “ _Jesus Christ, Ray, what were you doing? Brad said you guys had a job, but he didn’t say anything about you being shot at!_ ”

  


For a second, Ray is confused, and it takes him a minute to process Nate’s words. “Yes I was fucking shot at, but I’m fine, thanks for asking. Why the fuck are you talking to Brad?”

  


” _Why the fuck were you shot at?_ ” Nate snaps back, and Ray’s too disconnected to read what Nate’s feeling right now. He gets the feeling Nate wants to shake his shoulders and hit him a little bit maybe, kind of like Brad does when Ray does something stupid, but Ray wants the answer to his goddamn question already.

  


”Why are you talking to Brad?” He asks again. It absolutely isn’t jealousy that sits low in his stomach, twisting and gnawing at him until he feels the urge to throw up. Nate can talk to whoever the fuck he wants for all Ray cares. He just wants to know why he’s talking to  _Brad_  and neither of them thought to fucking mention it to him.

  


” _He’s never fucked me without you_ ,” Nate says, exasperated. “ _We just talk, sometimes. On the phone. Are you going to tell me why you were shot?_ ”

  


”I was shot  _at_ ,” Ray corrects. He doesn’t feel any better after Nate’s reassurances, but Nate didn’t sound entirely honest or placating. Ray’s not stupid and he’s definitely not jealous. “Are you going to get the fuck over here so I can fuck you already?”

  


” _What, right now?_ ” Nate asks, startled. For a moment, Ray worries that he’s blown it, ruined this thing, because it’s always been up to Nate to decide that they were going to do this. Ray needs it too badly to care right now though, and Nate must sense that because he just lets out a heavy breath and asks, “ _Do you have a hotel room?_ ”

  


This is the part where Ray knows for sure he’s going to get into a fuckton of trouble, but he doesn’t care. Besides, if Brad is talking to Nate willingly and on his own, Ray imagines he trusts Nate a lot more than he says he does. “Don’t have the patience to find one and get a room,” he says, clenching the steering wheel tight before letting go. “Just move your skinny butt and come to the house. You remember how to get there?”

  


” _My butt isn’t -_ ” Nate starts, but he sighs and gives up. “ _Is Brad going to be okay with this? Knowing that I -_ ” Nate pauses, like admitting he knows how to get to the house is a secret he was supposed to have forgotten but could never quite make himself let go of. “ _I’ll be around in half an hour_.”

  


Ray makes a triumphant sound and doesn’t bother hiding it. “Good,” he says, and he feels smugly superior about having wooed Nate over. Or, successfully booty called his ass instead of the other way around. Something like that, Ray doesn’t care to figure out the specifics, he just knows he won. “I’m hanging up now because Brad would kill me if he knew I was talking on the phone and driving. If you don’t show, I’m going to beat your ass.”

  


” _You were going to beat my ass anyways_ ,” Nate comments idly, but he says goodbye and hangs up on Ray. His easy acceptance of Ray demanding sex has to be a good sign, Ray thinks, has to mean Nate trusts them as much as they trust him. Or something. It means that this is something more than just sex, maybe, or that this is just about him.

  


Ray’s tired of thinking, is tired of doing anything that doesn’t involve his dick in Nate’s mouth or ass. Ray seriously hates everything about DC right now, but especially the traffic, and he’d like nothing more than to just be home already, with Nate, and Brad who is apparently a traitorous, scheming bastard. Ray just wants so bad it hurts and the relief won’t come soon enough.

  
\- - -  


Nate’s barely in the front door before Ray pounces on him, shoving him back against the wood and attacking Nate’s mouth with his tongue and teeth. Nate makes a small sound but opens up for Ray easily, lets himself be dominated with nothing more than an obscene moan. He doesn’t complain when Ray drags him forward by his shirt, curling his fingers around Ray’s arm tight enough his nails are digging in, and Ray isn’t sure where he’s taking Nate only that it needs to be flat and he needs to be able to tie Nate up.

  


The wait for Nate to show up almost killed Ray, and he doesn’t know how he’s managed to drag Nate through the halls of the house without tearing his clothes off, deeper than he’s ever been before, but he should get a fucking reward for it. They manage to make it up the stairs, somehow, and to Ray’s room, which is a fucking mess, but Nate doesn’t comment on it.

  


He just starts stripping as soon as they’ve crossed the threshold, and Ray doesn’t have the patience to wait for Nate to get naked before he starts biting at Nate’s collarbones, his chest, his nipples. He loves the way Nate cries out, arches forward to feel more of Ray’s teeth. He lets Ray shove him back on the bed as soon as he’s naked, his legs spreading wide instinctively.

  


Ray doesn’t have the patience to tie him up right now, doesn’t even know where he’s found the ability to strip out of his own clothes. It takes too long to prep Nate, to slick him up and fuck him with his fingers, but this has never been about  _hurting_  Nate. Ray couldn’t do that, not even as badly as he needs this right now, but even then Nate only gets the bare minimum of prepping.

  


When Ray finally pushes into Nate, so tight and hot around him, Ray almost loses it. He’s been aching too long for this, too badly, and he’s trembling before he even bottoms out. Nate’s not much better beneath him, sucking in sharp little breaths, clenching around Ray’s cock. The second Nate gives the okay, Ray pulls out and thrusts back in, fucking Nate hard and fast and desperate.

  


Later, when Ray has come inside of Nate and flops down on top of him, sweaty and spent, he’ll realize this is the first time he’s fucked Nate without Brad’s presence. Something about it feels odd and he feels guilty. It’s not that he feels like they’ve cheated, just that they’ve left him out. Brad is delicate about these things, about Nate.

  


Nate’s fingers are gentle where they stroke up and down Ray’s spine though, and he finds it hard to think when Nate’s touch is so soothing and his head is still spinning from his orgasm and the adrenaline. It’s weird, accepting this little bit of comfort from Nate, but Ray’s too lazy to even pull out of him right now, fighting away his gentle fingers seems like more effort than he can spend for the next century.

  


”I never thought to ask,” Nate murmurs softly, and he almost sounds guilty. “Is Brad okay? He wasn’t hurt, was he?” It makes that ugly feeling in Ray’s stomach to twist again, the thing he refuses to accept as jealousy, but he fights it back. Nate has a right to be worried about Brad. He’s allowed to ask.

  


”Brad’s fine,” Ray mutters against Nate’s chest. He sighs heavily, licking at Nate’s sweaty skin weakly. “He had to go talk to Encino Man about the job. I got sent home because they don’t like me and I couldn’t sit still.” He’s quiet for a moment, sighing again and looking up at Nate through half-lidded eyes. “He’s okay.”

  


”Okay,” Nate says softly. His fingers trail up Ray’s spine, to his hair, and he runs them through the messy locks slowly, massaging Ray’s scalp. It makes Ray moan, and he can feel the huff of laughter from Nate under him. “Ray, I need you to move,” Nate whispers.

  


Instinctively, Ray clutches tighter. He nips at Nate’s chest lightly, and growls. “I’m not moving for at least another ten minutes so you can fucking forget about it. You are a fuck awesome pillow.”

  


”I’m not saying we can’t do this still,” Nate replies, placating, pressing his fingers harder against Ray’s scalp enough for him to melt on top of Nate. “You’re crushing me, but I’ll live. I just meant you need to pull out now.”

  


”Don’t want to,” Ray mutters. Nate feels fuck awesome around him, even now, and Ray is too tired to do anything beyond what they’re doing right now. He’s crashing, he’s crashed, and it feels wonderful.

  


”And normally, I wouldn’t object,” Nate reassures him, “But you didn’t wear a condom, and – “

  


 _Fuck_ , Ray thinks, because he’s usually a lot smarter about these things. He pushes himself up onto an elbow tiredly, looking down at Nate quickly, and he’s surprised that Nate doesn’t look annoyed. He just looks as tired as Ray feels. Ray pulls out though, fumbling for the edge of a sheet so he can wipe them both down. “Sorry,” He adds idly, before flopping back down on top of Nate.

  


Nate makes an  _oomph_  sound when Ray’s weight is crushing down on him again. He pushes Ray away from him, which Ray objects to, but it’s just so they can roll onto their sides. His arm loops around Ray’s waist and he kisses Ray’s jaw lightly. “It’s fine,” he says softly. “Just – not again.”

  


”You’re pissed,” Ray hums lightly, shifting his weight so he can let himself be cuddled. He would normally object, because the only person who has ever tried to cuddle him before was Brad, and he’s never been a fan, but he can’t bring himself to care.

  


”Right now, only a little,” Nate admits. It makes Ray feel guilty, but not as much as it probably should, but that probably has something to do with the way Nate isn’t yelling at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

  


Ray nods, more than willing to let the subject drop, not talking about things that could upset Nate sounds like a very smart move. Only, as Ray is shifting to make himself more comfortable, drawing Nate in until he’s got one of Nate’s legs over his hips just to be able to press in as close as Ray wants him, something occurs to Ray. “Nate, has anyone ever come in you before?”

  


Ray can feel Nate’s blush more than he can see it, feels the way Nate’s skin suddenly gets hot to the touch all over. “Be smug about that later,” Nate says, and yeah, Ray is, and he is definitely going to be smug about it later. “Right now we’re fucking cuddling until Brad gets back and we can start round two.”

  


This assertive side of Nate is seriously kind of fuck hot, and Ray would tell him as much, but he’s tired, and he thinks Nate probably already knows. Besides that, Nate’s plan actually sounds really kind of good right now, and he thinks that maybe if he naps a little, Nate won’t really mind. Nate’s a good boy like that.

  
\- - -  


Ray and Nate are sitting on the kitchen floor eating pizza straight from the box, bottles scattered around them, when Brad comes home. They both look up at him, innocent and wide eyed, but Brad doesn’t say a thing. He just shrugs off his coat and grabs a beer from the fridge before he joins them.

  


It makes Ray wonder exactly what Brad and Nate talk about when he’s not around to listen, but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to ask and ruin this lazy feeling between them. The knot in his stomach isn’t bothering him, and maybe it has to deal with Brad being here, with Ray and Nate, and it feels good.

  


Sucking the pizza grease from his fingers slowly, Ray stretches one leg out and nudges Brad’s thigh lightly with his foot. “Hey. How long are you supposed to wait after you eat before you have sex?”

  


Brad looks up at him, staring blankly, before quirking an eyebrow slowly. He finishes chewing before he answers, washing his pizza down with a swig of beer. “You’re supposed to wait an hour after you eat before doing anything arduous.”

  


”I thought that was just for swimming,” Nate says, looking between the two of them. He licks pizza sauce from between his fingers, which is momentarily distracting and he smiles thinly when he notices Ray’s staring. He’s all cleaned up now, skin scrubbed and hair curling a little as it dries, and Ray wants to put his mouth all over him all over again.

  


Shaking his head, Brad sips at his beer again. “As long as you’re doing it right, sex is still a workout,” he replies easily, then smirks at Nate. “And we will definitely be doing it right.”

  


Nate flushes slightly, to the tips of his ears, but his face remains otherwise impassive. He quirks an eyebrow when Brad continues to leer, and sucks the grease and pizza sauce from his fingers slowly. “And what are we going to do in the hour it takes for the food to settle so you can show me how definitely right we’re doing this?” He asks, almost sweetly.

  


”I’m sure we can think of a few things,” Ray says, grinning, and he loves the mischievous smile that crosses Nate’s face. He’s not entirely sure what they’re supposed to do for an hour while they wait for the food to settle in their stomachs, but he’s kind of hoping Brad was kidding about waiting that long. They don’t really do foreplay, not with Nate, and not with each other.

  


Brad makes an agreeing sound, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Ray is very creative, for sure,” he says, picking off the black olives from his pizza and dropping them back in the box. He wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t ask why they’re there, and Ray notices he doesn’t shoot Nate a dark look like he does when Ray pulls a stunt like that. “He’s got a bucket list of things he wants to do to you.”

  


”That sounds promising,” Nate says, grinning through the flush to his cheeks. Ray wonders how long it’ll be before Nate stops blushing at every little comment, but he kind of likes it. A lot. Nate looks good with his green eyes bright and his skin flushed a pretty pink. He’ll miss it when it stops happening.

  


Not that Ray has a right to miss any part of Nate if he chose to walk away at any time. That’s not what this is about. Except, Ray thinks, he’s sitting on his kitchen floor eating dinner with Brad and Nate, and that soft affection is  _exactly_  what this is about. Ray wonders if this means he’s screwed, but he can’t be bothered to care.

  
\- - -  


By the time they get Nate upstairs and naked, spread out on Brad’s bed this time because it’s bigger, more comfortable, it’s been more than an hour. He tastes like strawberries and Baileys, and Ray is never going to make fun of Brad for buying it again. Not when the only thing either of them wants to do is suck the taste off of Nate’s tongue and top off his glass.

  


Nate’s skin is flushed, his cheeks a bright red, and it spreads down his chest. He’s gone hyper sensitive to touch, and maybe they gave him too much to drink, but it’s hard to care when he’s begging them to tie him up and use him. Who are they to deny him anything when he asks so nicely and he’s spread open so prettily?

  


Ray makes sure the handcuffs are tight enough to keep Nate bound, but not enough to hurt until he really tugs, before he leans in to steal another kiss. He sucks on Nate’s tongue slowly, until he moans, and then Brad is pushing apart Nate’s thighs and licking him open and Nate is moaning for another reason entirely. Nate arches up against Ray’s mouth when he starts to nip at Nate’s nipples, sucking and worrying at them lightly.

  


There’s more than one way to make Nate fall apart beneath them, constantly torn between pushing back against Brad’s tongue and arching up into Ray’s. It must be maddening for him, the slow torture of their pace as they take their time. Ray is determined to lick and bite every inch of his chest and stomach before going back to his nipples. Brad will rim Nate until he comes, if he has to.

  


Ray doesn’t have to ask to know he’s just as content to keep Nate like this, panting and moaning with every flick of a tongue or pinch of nails. He’s strung-out and needy, pretty and pink, and he comes long before either of them make a move for his cock.

  


Brad stops rimming Nate, nipping at the crease of his thighs, but he doesn’t stop fingering him. He smirks, smug pride obvious all over his face, and Ray shifts out of the way so Brad can lick the come off of Nate’s stomach slowly.

  


Nate just whimpers and his stomach clenches visibly under Brad’s mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, breathing ragged, and Ray’s not even the least bit surprised when Nate passes out before Brad even gets the chance to fuck him proper. They share a look, unsure of what to do with Nate, but they can’t exactly send him home like this. They could wake him up, but Nate is warm and in their – Brad’s – bed and isn’t that reason enough to let him sleep?

  


Ray uncuffs Nate’s wrists slowly and eases them down onto his stomach. Almost as soon as he’s free and Ray has settled in at his side, propped up on one elbow, Nate is rolling onto his side and nuzzling in close. For a second, Ray isn’t sure what to do. This will be the second time he’s cuddled with Nate today, and there isn’t really a standard operating procedure in place for this.

  


Hesitantly, Ray shoots a look to Brad, more than a little bit nervous with Brad’s eyes watching him intensely, before he lies down and stretches out. He puts one hand on Nate’s hip, stroking the bone with his thumb slowly, and tucking his other arm under his head. It’s not cuddling, not exactly, but when Brad stretches out behind Nate and covers Ray’s hand on Nate’s hip with his own, it might as well be.

  
\- - -  


Nate wakes up hungover and a little green, with barely enough time for him to scramble over Ray and stumble into the bathroom before he throws up. Ray watches him go, tipping his head in the direction of Nate’s retching, before he looks back over at Brad. He’s not surprised when Brad is suddenly alert, pushing off of the bed and grabbing his jeans before he follows Nate into the bathroom.

  


Ray stretches out on the bed, rolling over to claim the warm spot Brad and Nate left behind, sighing happily. He ignores the sound of Nate dry heaving and Brad’s low murmur in favor of nuzzling in close to the pillow, fumbling awkwardly to tug the blanket up to his neck. They argue at some point, not loud enough for Ray to make out the words, and a moment later Brad is dumping Nate on the bed and telling him to stay while he goes to make breakfast.

  


”How much Baileys did you give me last night?” Nate asks, crawling in closer to Ray and settling in comfortably at his side. He hesitates for a second, and Ray can’t see his face from where he’s laying, but then Nate’s hand is on his hip and his lips against Ray’s shoulder and he’s resting in close.

  


”It tasted good,” Ray mutters tiredly, stretching lazily and groaning before rolling back against Nate and settling in comfortably. He can hear Nate’s groan, but he ignores it in favor of grabbing Nate’s arm and wrapping it around his middle. He’s warm and comfortable and this is kind of like cuddling with Brad without the vice like grip, and Ray really kind of likes it.

  


It’s easy to drift off back to sleep with Nate warm against his back, and he’s just glad he’s not the one nursing a hangover like Nate is. That would suck, Ray thinks tiredly, but with the promise of food at some point and nowhere better to be, Ray is all for just sleeping away the morning.

  
\- - -  


Things change. Things always change and Ray knows there is supposed to be some sort of poetry in that about growing and learning and loving but he can’t be bothered to care. He would only mock it if he could figure it out anyway. Ray’s never liked the bullshit in poetry.

  


The point is, Nate does, and suddenly Ray doesn’t just care about what Nate wants and needs. There’s more to this thing between them, like what Nate likes and who he is, and they’re not just fucking anymore. Nate is a constant in their lives, and maybe they only see him once or twice a week and it still ends with him spreading his legs and begging for more, but it’s not just that.

  


Nate comes over willingly on his own, and he comes when they ask him to, but it’s not just sex. Nate crashes on the couch and plays  _Halo_  and  _Call of Duty_  with Ray, even though he isn’t particularly good at either of them, and he chills in the garage when Brad does routine maintenance on any of the cars or trucks they’ve got in there. He naps on the couch during bad movies, and he lingers in the kitchen when they cook dinner.

  


It’s not where Ray expected this would go when they started it, honestly didn’t think all three of them would still be interested in sex with each other after the first few months, but they are. Things are good, even if it’s not what Ray thought would happen, and he knows without asking that Brad and Nate feel the same.

  


And maybe they’re setting themselves up to fall and for one or all of them to get hurt over this, but it’s hard to care when it feels so good. This recklessness is nothing new for Ray, he’s used to throwing himself headfirst into things and hoping they turn out for the best, but Brad and Nate aren’t like that. They’re both cool and calculated. Ray just hopes if this crashes and burns he doesn’t lose both of them, because it would be his fault for forcing this, and it would seriously fucking suck.

  


Even with that fear hanging over his head though, Ray can’t be bothered to call this thing to a stop. He likes having Brad and Nate to himself too much to even consider it. Maybe that’s selfish and shallow of him, but it’s been a long time since he’s had anything this good, and he knows the same goes for Brad and probably Nate too, and that alone makes it worth the risk.

  


At least, Ray hopes so. He’s never been so good at the coming down from a high part, whether emotional or physical or drug induced, and he’s not looking forward to that inevitable end. He’d much rather ride the waves of unadulterated good while he still can.

  
\- - -  


”Do you like steak?” Brad asks one morning, crouching down in front of the freezer and rooting through it. At first, Ray’s not sure what the fuck he’s talking about, because who the fuck doesn’t like steak, but then he realizes Nate has wandered into the kitchen and is wiping his eyes tiredly.

  


”What?” Nate asks, blinking sleepily over at Brad. He’s not wearing his jeans, Ray notices belatedly, and he’s got on the same faded Comic Con shirt Brad was wearing last night over his boxers. The shirts too big and his hair is a mess, and he’s so fucking adorable that Ray just wants to chew on him.

  


”Steak,” Brad says, looking over at his shoulder at Nate. He makes a face, incredulous or annoyed, but he smiles softly when Nate just stares tiredly at him. “I have some in here that needs to be cooked. Will you eat it if I make it?”

  


”Oh,” Nate says. He looks at Brad before he blinks sleepily in the direction of the coffee pot. “Isn’t it a little early for steaks?”

  


Brad laughs, soft and amused, and he pushes away from the freezer. He tosses the frozen steaks into the sink before he makes his way over to Nate, cupping his face in his hands in kissing his forehead. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Brad says softly, and he laughs again when Nate smacks his side lightly. “Drink your damn coffee and wake up already.”

  


Nate nods when Brad pushes away, watching him move around the kitchen with his head tipped to the side before he glances over at Ray. “It’s too early for him to be in this good of a mood,” He says, and Ray silently agrees. He roots around in the cabinets for a mug though, pouring himself a cup of coffee, and joins Ray at the kitchen table.

  


Ray can’t help but think  _I’ve fucked you on this table_  every time he sees Nate sitting at it, but Nate stopped blushing at the comment ages ago. It doesn’t amaze Ray any less, though, and he wonders if it ever will. “Dude, Brad’s a fucking morning person. I’m not even sure if he’s human.”

  


”I can hear you, you know,” Brad comments idly from the far side of the kitchen, pausing in pulling stuff from the cabinets to shoot Ray a dark look. He rolls his eyes when Ray waves him off, turning his attention back to the cabinets and shaking his head.

  


Nate is content to sit in silence, shaking his head when Ray offers to share his Eggos, just sipping at his coffee and watching Brad moves around the kitchen and prep the marinade for his steaks. He still looks warm and sleepy, and he’s not even a little hesitant or embarrassed when he covers one of Ray’s feet with his own.

  


It’s stupidly domestic, but Ray loves it. He takes another bite of his waffles and washes it down with coffee before prodding Nate in the ribs lightly with a finger. “So, are you going to stick around for dinner or not?”

  


Nate looks confused for a moment, blinking at Ray over the top of his coffee cup before realization kicks in. He glances at his wrist, blinking in confusion when he notices his watch is gone, before looking at the clock on the wall. “I promised I’d go to lunch with my sister and mom, but I could come back later.”

  


”That works for me,” Ray says, glancing to where Brad is looking at them, and he’s not surprised when Brad just shrugs a shoulder weakly. “But if this is just you being scared to try Brad’s cooking, I swear he is actually good at it. I won’t tell if you want to run away though.”

  


Laughing, Nate pinches Ray’s ribs through his shirt. “Shut up, Ray,” he says, shaking his head and sipping at his coffee again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back tonight for sure.” He puts his cup down on the table and stretches widely, groaning, and Ray doesn’t bother to hide the fact he’s staring. “What?”

  


”We should have sex before you go home,” Ray says, smirking at Nate suggestively. “In the shower. I’ll make sure you’re nice and clean before you go off to have lunch with your family.”

  


”That’s awfully generous of you,” Nate says wryly, but he doesn’t outright object to the idea. He drums his fingers on the table before glancing over at Brad. “Do you want to join us, Brad?” He asks innocently, smoothing his hand out on the wooden table. “You know, conservation of water and all.”

  


Brad snorts, shooting Nate a look that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “You have been spending way too much time with Ray,” He says, pointing a finger at Nate. “Get the fuck out of my kitchen, the both of you.” He rubs a hand over his face slowly, before adding, “I’ll be up in a minute. Just let me finish here.”

  


Ray and Nate share a smug, triumphant look with each other before they push themselves away from the table to obey. Ray is hardly going to object to a plan that involves a naked Nate or Brad, and if they’re going to get wet and he gets to put his tongue on them, he’d be stupid to even consider it.

  


Nate doesn’t object when Ray takes his hand in his own, tugging him from the kitchen and back up the stairs, because of all the bathrooms in the house, Brad’s is the nicest and has the biggest shower. Logically, he knows he should wait for Brad to catch up before he presses Nate back against the tile wall and starts to suck on his tongue, but he can’t resist a naked Nate. He feels no guilt though, because he knows Brad would do the same.

  
\- - -  


Ray finds Brad in his room, after they took turns fucking Nate against the shower wall and sent him home. He’s got his laundry basket tugged towards the middle of the room and he’s stripping the sheets from his bed. Brad has this thing about changing his sheets after he’s fucked in his bed, which Ray doesn’t understand, because it means Brad changes them every few days.

  


To be spiteful, Ray flops down on the bed after Brad’s tugged the sheets away and stripped the mattress bare, and he ignores the tired glare Brad sends him. There’s something gnawing away inside of him. Ray can’t explain the guilt when he asks, “Do you think we’re making a mistake?” And he hopes to God he gets it and he doesn’t have to explain.

  


For a moment, Brad is quiet, bunching up the white sheets in his hands before he drops them into the blue basket. “I think we’re being reckless and stupid and that we both have a death wish,” Brad says quietly, picking up the clean sheets from the top of his dresser. He doesn’t look at Ray when he shakes out the bottom one, his expression carefully blank. “But I don’t think it’s a mistake.”

  


The validation is comforting, and the relief of Brad’s agreeing words has Ray biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything stupid and chick flick. “I like Nate,” He says, propping himself up on his elbows and tracing his fingers along the dips in the mattresses surface. He doesn’t know why he says it, because it’s an obvious fact, but Brad nods his head in agreement all the same. “How come you make steak for Nate but not for me?”

  


”Because it’s a bitch to marinade and cook and takes all day to do so, and by the time it’s done, you eat it in five seconds without tasting it,” Brad snaps, and Ray would be annoyed, but he’s a little surprised that he might have actually hurt Brad’s feelings or something. “Now move your skinny ass so I can make the bed.”

  


Ray doesn’t move and Brad doesn’t wait for him. He just flips the sheet up, spreading it out, and lets it flutter down on top of Ray. Ray would stay there, too, but when Brad starts tucking the corners in he thinks that Brad might honestly make the bed around him like a dick, so he rolls over and sits on the floor instead. “You know you’re just going to change the sheets again tomorrow.”

  


Brad just grunts and ignores Ray, continuing to tuck in the corners before he grabs the top sheet and spreads that one out as well.

  


Rubbing the back of his neck, Ray tips his head to the side and stares at Brad will he tucks in the sheet. “You ever think if this keeps up that maybe you should get a bigger bed?” he asks, because as well as Brad and Ray and Nate fit on the bed, it still wasn’t built for three people when two of them are giants.

  


The comment makes Brad pause, like maybe he hadn’t thought about it, but he looks at the bed thoughtfully. “I like my bed,” he says, a little frown on his face that Ray doesn’t find even a little bit cute at all, no way. “But... A headboard with something easier to handcuff someone to would be nice.”

  


Ray quirks an eyebrow when Brad continues to stare at the headboard, considering it, before he shakes his head and looks over at Ray. “I’m just saying,” Ray says, more out of the desire to say something than sit in silence. “I think I’m going to take a nap now.”

  


”Good for you,” Brad says, and he makes no move to stop Ray from pushing himself up onto his feet and leaving the room. He’s looking at his headboard again, like maybe he is honestly considering it now, and Ray smirks to himself when he makes his way to his own room and collapses on top of the covers.

  
\- - -  


Ray wakes up to the feeling of soft lips against the back of his neck and warm fingers petting his belly. At first, he’s seriously fucking confused, because Brad doesn’t ever get this touchy-feely even when he is in a cuddling mood. The body behind Ray presses in close though, and it’s not big enough to be Brad.

  


”Hey,” Nate murmurs, resting his palm flat against Ray’s belly, kissing his shoulder lightly. “Brad said to come wake you up because you’re being a fucking terrible host and that if you’re going to live here against his will you should at least pretend to care about your guests. His words.”

  


Ray believes it. Brad has said all of those things at one point or another. Only, usually when Brad has people visiting, it’s Godfather or Snafu, and Ray doesn’t need Brad to tell him to get the fuck out for Ray to be gone. He pushes away from Nate long enough to roll onto his back, and he smiles up at Nate. “Thought you had a lunch to go to.”

  


There’s a thin smile on Ray’s face, like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be amused or worried. “Ray, it’s almost seven. I’ve been here for over an hour already and Brad’s cooking dinner,” Nate says, and Ray blinks up at him in confusion. “Your sleep schedule is seriously fucked up.”

  


”Like the kid who just graduated from college gets to talk,” Ray says, wrinkling his nose, and he’s not surprised when Nate mirrors the expression and pinches his side. Ray and Brad have long since learned calling Nate  _kid_  will only serve to piss him off, but sometimes they can’t help it. “What were you and Brad doing without me?” Ray asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

  


”We weren’t having sex,” Nate says, rolling his eyes. He pushes away from Ray and rolls over the edge of the bed, stretching and standing up. “We talked while he worked on dinner. Shared a little wine while we waited for your skinny butt to make its way downstairs.”

  


Ray groans loudly as he stretches, closing his eyes and arching his back up off the bed to force the sleepiness and lethargy out of his system. He pushes himself up into a sitting position when he’s done, side eying Nate suspiciously. “Blowjobs count as sex.”

  


”I haven’t blown Brad since last night,” Nate replies, frowning, pursing his lips into a thin line. “And I would appreciate it if you stopped assuming that just because I’m here that I’m spreading my legs every five seconds that you’re not in the room. I’m not a slut and your jealousy is unattractive.”

  


For a moment, Ray has absolutely has no idea what to say, because he’s not used to Nate snapping at him like. Brad, sure, he’s a dick and he objects to everything that comes out of Ray’s mouth. Nate is sweet and soft-spoken and he only gets snippy when he’s being teased.

  


”I’m not jealous,” Ray says after a moment, because it’s the only thing he can think to say, even if it’s not entirely true. He rubs the back of his neck and looks away from Nate to glance at the clock on his nightstand. Nate might be right about his sleep schedule, not that Ray plans on admitting it anytime soon.

  


”Stop moping and get your butt downstairs,” Nate says, rolling his eyes. He offers his hand to Ray, helping to pull him to his feet and up off the bed. Nate smiles indulgently when Ray presses in close, doesn’t object when Ray leans in to kiss him. “Food, Ray. Sex later.”

  


There’s a quip on the tip of Ray’s tongue about how he remembers when he didn’t have to do anything Nate told him and that sex was always the most important thing, everything else could fucking wait, but – but for some reason, Ray can’t voice it. Not when he really does enjoy the way things have progressed. It’s interesting, and Nate is good and sweet.

  


”Lead the way, then,” Ray says, swinging their still joined fingers between them and waiting expectantly. He holds Nate’s hand tight when Nate tries to pull away, and Ray’s not entirely sure what the expression on Nate’s face means, but Nate squeezes Ray’s fingers tight in his own before he starts to move, tugging Ray along behind him.

  
\- - -  


There’s a permanent blush to Nate’s cheeks that darkens and spreads with the more wine he drinks and his eyes are shining bright green, and the contrast is amazing. His laughter is easy, charming, and he smiles over the top of his wine glass as he swirls the red wine inside of it slowly.

  


It’s strange, how easy it is to just talk to Nate. To listen to him tell them stories about Walt or his college friends, about classes he took and how he’s registered to take classes at a local community college because he has no idea what the fuck he wants to do with his life and he’d go crazy if he just worked at the diner all day long.

  


Even weirder is that they’re encouraging him, asking questions and talking back. This isn’t just about the sex they’re going to get out of keeping Nate happy, this is about Nate. Nate, the boy who probably shouldn’t even be here because it’s stupid and dangerous but they keep plying him with more wine until he’s blinking slowly and smiling at everything they say because they don’t want him to go.

  


Later, after they’re all bloated on wine and steak, potatoes and pie, when they’ve dragged Nate upstairs and kissed every inch of skin they can reach when he’s still dressed, Nate smiles. He raises his arms sluggishly, swaying on his feet when Brad tugs his shirt off, and he lets Ray guide him back onto the bed but tugs Ray down with him. Pressing his lips against Ray’s jaw, Nate whispers loudly. “If you want me to spend the night you don’t have to get me drunk.”

  


Smiling, Ray nips at Nate’s jaw lightly and cups Nate’s dick through his jeans. He’s not hard, but Ray’s not surprised after all the alcohol that they poured into his system. Ray’s not even sure if he could get it up. He still holds that wine is for pussies and it’s even worse than Baileys, but somehow there’s an entire bottle between the three of them. “Still gotta earn your keep.”

  


Nate makes a sound, small and sad, pressing his hips up against Ray’s hand. He rocks up against him lazily for a minute to no effect, before he makes a frustrated sound and reaches to undo his jeans. “Don’t think we can fuck tonight,” He murmurs, fumbling with the button and whining softly. “’m sorry.”

  


Brad moves in though, rescuing Nate from Ray’s grabby hands and undoing Nate’s jeans easily. He tugs lightly, smiling softly when Nate arches up his hips to help Brad tug them down, and they end up tossed on the floor behind Brad. “Don’t apologize,” He says softly, patting Nate’s hip lightly. “Just get under the covers and go to bed.”

  


Humming lightly, Nate rolls onto his stomach and crawls up the bed slowly. If he notices the way Brad and Ray are both watching him, the swish of his hips as he moves, he doesn’t say anything, and he settles in comfortably in the middle of the bed. “I have a question,” He asks, stretching widely before blinking down at them sleepily.

  


”I might have an answer,” Ray replies, and he smirks when Brad shoots him a dark look. He sits up long enough to tug off his own shirt and kick off his jeans, and Nate smiles happily when Ray crawls his way up the bed towards him. “What did you want to know?”

  


Nate squirms, making room for Ray on his pillow, and smiles sleepily at him. Pressing a finger to Ray’s lips, he watches Ray through half-lidded eyes and asks, “Do you think you two could fuck me at the same time?”

  


For a moment, Ray has no idea what Nate is talking about. They fuck Nate at the same time all the time, taking turns to use him or having him go down on one of them while the other owns his ass. He hears Brad curse though, the sharp inhale and Ray thinks  _Oh_. Now this is a seriously unfair time for Nate to ask a question like that.

  


Licking his lips, the tip of Nate’s finger, Ray nods. “Yeah, we could probably try that sometime,” he says. There’s no way he could forget an offer like that either, even with the haze in his system, and he just hopes Nate actually wants to feel Brad and Ray inside of him at the same time and he isn’t just asking out of idle curiosity. “Not tonight.”

  


”Not tonight,” Nate agrees, tugging at Ray’s hip until Ray scoots in closer and they’re tucked into each other. He stares pointedly at Brad until Brad peels off his clothes and joins them. Nate sighs happily when Brad tugs the blanket up over them proper. “Soon.”

  


”Soon,” Brad promises, kissing Nate’s shoulder. He lays there propped up on one elbow behind Nate, his fingers skimming along Nate’s hip, just watching. It’s comforting, maybe, or something. It’s hard to pinpoint the feeling exactly, but Ray thinks maybe Brad didn’t have as much to drink as they did. He knows Brad is just keeping an eye on them both, out of protectiveness or wariness or maybe both, but that’s nice, too.

  


“Go to sleep,” Brad adds, quieter, and Ray can’t think of any reason to object. Judging by the way Nate’s eyes slip shut and he nuzzles in close, Ray gets the feeling he agrees. Brad smiles softly when Ray looks up at him, and it’s enough for Ray to relax back into the pillows and close his eyes as well.

  
\- - -  


Ray wakes up with the need to piss. He has no idea what time it is, only that it’s still dark as fuck outside, and he rolls out of bed without thinking about it to stumble towards the bathroom in the dark.

  


He’s only out of the warm comfort of Nate’s arms for a few moments, but by the time Ray has washed his hands and crawled back into bed, Nate has rolled over to curl into Brad’s side, his head on Brad’s shoulder. For a second, Ray is a mixture of irritated and jealous, because how is he supposed to stay warm when Nate’s got an arm slung around Brad’s waist and is snoring softly?

  


But Ray is tired, and Nate is still here, so he just wiggles under the covers and presses himself up against Nate’s back, kissing his shoulder softly before closing his eyes. The heat radiating off of Nate is wonderful, and Ray will have to thank Brad for keeping his Nate warm, but it can wait for later. Now, Ray just wants to sleep.

  
\- - -  


Nate likes to stop by when he’s done with his classes for the day, kicking back at the kitchen table to do his homework while Brad gets dinner ready and listens to Ray rant. He watches them with fond amusement, and sometimes Ray wonders where the wariness in his eyes went, but he never asks because he likes this more.

  


Ray actually really kind of likes that Nate is comfortable enough with them to just hang out while he does his homework, staying for dinner and sex. He likes that Nate doesn’t mind staying the night and he likes that sleepy smile on Nate’s face when he first wakes up in the morning to find Brad and Ray are still there.  _Like_  isn’t really the right word for it, maybe, but it’s the closest Ray can get to admitting what he means.

  


It’s fine, it’s normal. Brad and Ray don’t ask questions about it and they’re hardly going to complain. They have no objections to Nate sticking around, not really. They like having him here, where they can keep an eye on him and keep him happy. It works for them.

  


The thought that maybe the three of them have become a little too domestic doesn’t even occur to Ray, not even when Nate shows up on their doorstep after class looking like death warmed over. Nate is pale, except for the flush to his cheeks, and Ray doesn’t have to touch him to know how clammy his skin is right now.

  


”Jesus fucking Christ,” Ray says, and he’s reaching for Nate to drag him into the house before he even thinks about it. He ignores Nate’s feeble objections and the way his bag falls to the floor, dragging him through the house until he can shove him onto the couch in the living room. “What the fuck were you thinking leaving the house today? Don’t tell me you went to class?”

  


”Had to go to class,” Nate protests, collapsing back onto the couch and melting into the cushions. He lets his head loll on the back cushions for a moment, content to just be until Ray drops down and starts to tug off his shoes. “Wha – Ray, stop.”

  


Ray doesn’t know what he’s doing right now, not really. He just knows that Nate looks like he should be in the hospital right now instead of on their couch and that his heart is thudding in his chest so hard it hurts. He’s worried and scared and it doesn’t make any sense, because this is Nate, Ray shouldn’t care so much about something less than a bullet wound but he does. He does and that terrifies him.

  


He tosses Nate’s shoes into the middle of the room, tugging his socks down and doing the same before Ray stops. He presses his forehead to Nate’s knee for a second, trying to bite back that nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, before he looks up at Nate again. “Just. Sit here for a second. I’m going to find Brad and some Nyquil and you’re skinny ass is going to bed, do you hear me?”

  


”I’m  _fine_ ,” Nate objects, but he can’t push himself up off of the couch without a ton of effort and a soft whine, and Ray is there to catch him before he takes his first step. Grabbing Ray’s shoulders, Nate presses his forehead against Ray’s. “’m sorry I stopped by. I’ll go home if you don’t want me here.”

  


”You’re an idiot,” Ray tells Nate, and he tries not to squirm at the press of Nate’s skin against his own. Nate is burning up. He shouldn’t be doing anything but sleeping. He could be dying or something, right here, practically in Ray’s arms, and he wants to _leave_? “Just – sit here for five minutes. I’ll handcuff you to the couch if I have to.”

  


Nate doesn’t say anything when Ray shoves him back onto the couch, but he whines softly and looks up at Ray through wide green eyes. They’re bright and shining from his fever, and Ray’s stomach twists into knots just looking at him. Nate doesn’t try to get up again though, just watching Ray through half-lidded eyes from his spot on the couch.

  


Ray knows where Brad is, knows where Brad has been all day because he’s been in a mood recently, and he’s not even remotely surprised to find Brad on his back under the Jeep. The thing has to have had more oil changes in a year than is even healthy, but Brad finds it therapeutic or something and Ray can’t be bothered to object.

  


Instead, he just grabs Brad’s ankle and tugs him out from under the Jeep and ignores Brad’s angry snapping. “Dude, homes, Nate is like seriously fucking sick and dying on our couch, and I don’t even know what I’m doing, how much Nyquil is he supposed to take when he looks ready to die and I – “

  


Brad is on his feet in an instant, cupping Ray’s face in his greasy hands and forcing Ray to look up at him. “Hey, shut up and calm down,” Brad says, sweeping his thumbs over Ray’s cheekbones. “What’s wrong with Nate?”

  


”He’s burning up,” Ray says meekly, and it’s weird how soothing the gentle touch from Brad is, despite the worry twisting away in his stomach. “We should take him to the hospital or call Doc or – or  _something_.”

  


Brad presses a quick kiss to Ray’s forehead and lets go of his face. He wipes his hands on his jeans, ignoring the smear of grease and oil, turning on his heels and moving through the house. There’s nothing for Ray to do but trail behind Brad awkwardly, digging his nails into his own skin to keep from falling apart or screaming.

  


Ray doesn’t have any coping mechanisms for dealing with sick or hurt people. Seeing Nate like this kills him almost as much as washing Brad’s blood off his hands after a bullet skimmed his shoulder. He doesn’t know how to deal with the people he cares about being hurt or dying or worse. Ray’s never had to learn before, and now, it’s too much, too soon, and he wants to explode.

  


Nate has fallen asleep on the couch by the time they make it to the living room, curled on his side with his knees drawn up to his chest. His breath is ragged as he breathes through his mouth, and the sight of his ashen skin is enough to make Ray want to puke or run away, or both.

  


Brad crouches down in front of Nate quietly, brushing Nate’s hair from his face and checking his temperature. His expression is closed off, and it only makes Ray worry worse, the tension in his stomach enough to almost physically hurt. “I’m going to call Doc,” Brad says softly, looking over his shoulder at Ray. “Get over here and keep an eye on him.”

  


Ray doesn’t budge. If Brad is calling Doc than maybe there really is something wrong with Nate. What if it’s contagious, and they both get sick as well and then they die? Does someone know that they’ve let Nate in, did they do something to him to get to them? Or did he just get salmonella or something from the mouth breathers he’s too smart to be going to school with?

  


”Ray,” Brad says, firmer, and it snaps Ray out of his reverie. He looks up at Brad with wide eyes, and he’s a little surprised when Brad crooks his finger and gestures for Ray to come closer. Ray obeys, because it’s easier than fighting it, and Brad catches Ray’s wrist when Ray is close enough. “It’s going to be okay.”

  


Ray lets Brad tug his wrist, pulling him down onto the floor at Brad’s side, and Ray leans against the couch heavily. He touches his fingers to Nate’s hair, lightly, before brushing the sweaty strands out of Nate’s face and petting him lightly. “No it’s not,” he says weakly, closing his eyes and biting his lip. “It’s not, Brad, this isn’t – “

  


”Nate is going to be fine,” Brad says, squeezing Ray’s shoulder tightly. He holds up a hand when Ray opens his mouth to object, silencing him with a look. “Ray, listen to me. He has a fever. It’s probably just the flu. It’s that time of year. People get sick. Nate is going to be  _fine_. Stop worrying.”

  


”You’re not listening to me,” Ray says, shaking his head. He pulls his hand away from Nate and twists out of Brad’s grip. He sits back, knees drawn up to his chest, and he’s so frustrated he could probably cry. Brad would never let him live it down though, so Ray wipes at his eyes in agitation before making an annoyed sound. “Brad, I think I love him.”

  


Brad is quiet, but he doesn’t look surprised or angry. Just tired, maybe, and a little bit defeated. He rubs a hand over his face slowly, watching Nate sleep quietly, his expression a blank mask.

  


 _That’s it_ , Ray thinks hysterically. He’s fucked this up. He’s gone and done something he was never supposed to do, something he never thought he would ever fucking do, and now he’s going to lose everything. It’s not going to work, Ray can’t love Nate, can’t love Brad, because it makes things complicated and dangerous. They have always had a relationship built off of sex, Ray wanting, _needing_  more than that throws off the delicate balance.

  


If there’s one thing Ray has always been good at, it’s ruining things. It’s so typical of him to have ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him, even if it really was inevitable, but it still kills him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do now, because he can’t really stay here if he can’t have Nate – and Brad – like he wants them. Like he’s not supposed to want them.

  


”Brad, I – “ Ray starts, but Brad cuts him off with a look and a shake of his head. Ray has no idea what’s going on in Brad’s head right now, but he looks every bit as scared and broken as Ray feels right now. “Brad.”

  


”I know,” Brad says quietly, looking away from Ray. He touches his finger tips to Nate’s knuckles, waits for Nate’s hand to relax just a little before he covers it with his own and squeezes lightly. “I know, Ray,” Brad says again, and, “Me too.”

  


There’s a lump in the back of Ray’s throat that has absolutely no right being there and his eyes absolutely are not burning. He blinks away the wetness before crawling in close again, leaning heavily against Brad’s side and closing his eyes. He doesn’t look when he reaches for Nate, petting his hair, but he doesn’t need to. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?” He asks quietly.

  


At first, Brad doesn’t say anything. He tips his head to kiss Ray’s temple, slow and soft, before he sighs heavily. “I’m going to call Doc and ask if he knows what to do when sick college kids pass out on your couch. You’re going to sit here and keep Nate company.”

  


Ray shakes his head, pulling away from Brad slightly to look up at him. “That’s not what I meant at all and you know it – “ He starts, but Brad silences him by leaning in and kissing him proper. Ray blinks at him, before putting a hand to Brad’s chest and pushing him away. “Brad, seriously,” Ray says, and he can feel the hysteria bubbling up inside of him.

  


”Nate’s going to be fine,” Brad says. He squeezes Nate’s hand again before he lets it go, pushing himself to his feet slowly and stretching slightly when he stands. He touches the top of Ray’s head, carding his fingers through Ray’s hair until Ray looks up at him. “It’s going to be okay, Ray. We’ll figure this out.”

  


It’s embarrassing how much Ray needs to believe those words. There’s still waves of doubt and fear crashing around in his stomach, but it helps that he’s not alone in this. Brad has gone and fucked up just as badly as he has, and maybe Brad doesn’t believe his own words any more than Ray does, but it’s a start. Ray thinks it might honestly kill him right now if Nate woke up and said he didn’t feel the same, he didn’t want this, but they have time for that.

  


Right now, the only thing that matters is making sure Nate is okay. He never has to know the truth, if Brad and Ray decide he doesn’t need to know, that the risk of losing him isn’t worth it. It’ll suck, but at least they’ll still have Nate, and that’s better than nothing. It has to be better than nothing.

  


”Okay,” Ray says quietly, nodding. He waits until Brad nods at him in return before he scoots closer to the couch, pressing his cheek against the cushion and looking at Nate. He still feels sick at the sight of Nate like this, but it doesn’t matter, because Nate is going to be okay. Maybe he’s helpless to do anything about it, but Brad is calling Doc, and maybe Doc will yell at them for letting Nate get this bad, but he’ll know what to do.

  


Nate is going to be okay, and that’s enough for Ray and Brad to be okay, too.


	11. Prologue

Nate’s fever breaks three days later.

  


He’s tucked into Brad’s bed, covers pulled low down his hips and spread out across the mattress on his stomach like he owns it. His face is pressed into a pillow, half-hidden from the room, but there’s enough of him to touch for Ray to feel his skin.

  


It’s a relief of such epic proportions that Ray doesn’t even know where to begin celebrating, but dragging Brad from the shower seems a good a place to start as any.

  


”You’re sure?” Brad asks, wiping his face with a towel slowly before he wraps it around his waist. He frowns but lets himself be led back into the bedroom.

  


Nate is still there, in the same spot Ray left him, the sun warm on his naked skin and a sleepy smile on his face.

  


”I might not be able to take apart a car or a computer and put it back together blindfolded, but I do know how to take someone’s temperature,” Ray says, shaking his head. He leaves Brad and crawls back on the bed, touching Nate’s forehead again. “He’s not hot anymore.”

  


Brad moves quietly until he’s sitting on the bed by Nate, nudging Ray’s hand out of the way so he can feel Nate’s forehead himself. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It’s gone.”

  


Ray relaxes when Brad smiles at him, and it’s amazing how the exhaustion is lifted from the both of them.

  


”Do you think we should call Doc and tell him?” Ray asks, touching his fingers to Nate’s shoulder lightly. “He threatened to kick down the door if we didn’t keep him updated.”

  


”In not so many words,” Brad agrees. He’s still smiling though, brushing Nate’s hair from his face and smoothing it down. “It can wait, though.”

  


Ray nods his head. He stretches out at Nate’s side, resting his hand on the small of Nate’s back, and smiles up at Brad. There are so many things he could say right now, but he doesn’t voice any of them.

  


But, Brad doesn’t say anything either when he stretches out on Nate’s other side, propping himself up on an elbow and covering Nate’s hand with his own, and the silence is comforting for once instead of oppressive.

  


Now that they know Nate’s going to be fine, that he’s okay, everything feels so much easier and lighter.

  


And maybe there are other things they could be doing, but now that the relief gnawing away at their stomachs is gone, they can’t think of a single place they would rather be.

  


Nate is here, he’s fine, and for as long as he’s sleeping between them, easy and deep, he’s theirs, and they’ll protect him and keep him safe.

  


Everything will be okay.


End file.
